


Come, My Heart (Piece by Piece)

by lockedout



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/M, slow burn but not really, the story starts in the middle, there's a lot of use of history
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-26
Updated: 2019-03-30
Packaged: 2019-04-08 11:33:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 43
Words: 238,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14104473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lockedout/pseuds/lockedout
Summary: Rhaegar Targayen is the crown prince to the Seven kingdoms. Brilliant and accomplished, he holds the world in the palm of his hand. Driven by his duty to the realm, he closes his heart off. Then she came into his life and he could not have enough of her. For her, he would give up everything without a second thought.Lyanna Stark is the daughter of the Warden of the North. Fostered with her mother's sister in the stormlands, Lyanna never much cared for the limitations of her sex. Instead she yearns for freedom and adventure. Then he came into her life and became her freedom and her greatest adventure.But in this world of theirs, nothing comes easy.** formerly titled "Everything," then "Piece by Piece" and now "Come, My Heart"I pinky swear that I'm done changing titles.





	1. Restless and Wild

“Not everything has to become a verbal spar,” the voice rose from behind her. “Lyanna!”

She flinched at the sound of her name.  _No, Brother, not everything has to turn into a verbal spar, but is this what we do now_ , she wanted to retort. But it would do no good, though. She and Brandon would be in close confines for the duration of the tourney at Harrenhal. Ten days of festivities, ten days of feasting, ten days of dancing, ten days of merriment, ten days of competition and ten days of her eldest brother watching her. They had been butting heads since her party had met his at Lord Harroway’s Town before striking south for Harrenhal. She wondered when things had become so tense between them, when he began looking at her so differently.

Lyanna Stark had not lived at Winterfell since she was one-and-ten years. She had gathered her courage one day, gone to Lord Rickard and asked him to send her away, to her lady aunt at Amberly, in the stormlands. Though she loved Winterfell and the north with all of her heart, as Lyanna grew, it had become oppressive and distressing, more so after her mother’s passing. Her aunt, Lady Branda Rogers, had been happy to take her in and raise her alongside her own children.

When her lord father had acquiesced to her request much to her surprise, Lyanna had not known if she should be grateful or offended that he had let her go so easily. _“You are his precious girl,”_ her aunt had explained to her one day as she brushed the tangles from Lyanna’s hair. _"There’s nothing in the world he would not have done for you. But it is harder for him when it comes to you, child. Old Nan was Old Nan when I was your age running about the hallways of Winterfell with your lady mother. She was no spring chicken then, she could barely keep up with us as it were.”_ She had put her fingers to her niece’s chin and gently lifted her head so that she may look into her eyes. _“Sons are easier to raise than daughters. My lord husband is fond of saying that war is easier than daughters. And you, my dearest, are half a boy and half a wolf. He worries for you. Him agreeing to send you away doesn’t mean he loves you less, sweetling. He didn’t think Winterfell was the right place for you to be after your mother died is all. Lyarra was more equipped to deal with certain things than he or the maester are. I think he had the right of it.”_

Though she was gone from Winterfell, it didn’t mean Lyanna was less a child of the north. The grey old walls of Winterfell were still home and the heart tree was her oldest friend in the world. It knew all her secrets. It knew her loves and hates and the people she held in her heart. The godswood was still her godswood and the summer snows falling in sheets and the tree branches coated in ice were still some of the most beautiful things Lyanna had ever seen in her life.

And the blood of the First Men, Stark blood, ran warm through her veins. The north was the swamps and bogs of the Neck and the barrows of the First Men, the hot springs on which Winterfell had been built. The north was the wolfswood and the Kings in the North, Sea Dragon Point, the old gods, the cold winds and the Wall.

And Lyanna Stark was nothing if not a child of winter and the daughter of Winterfell.

Her latest voyage home had not gone as she had anticipated, however. Things had gone to sour quickly and Lyanna wished she had remained south, in safe arms, where she knew no one would ever hurt her like that. That it had come from Ned had been like a slap in the face.

Ned who used to take Lyanna by the hand and read her stories about warrior queens. Ned who had always been the calm in the storm had instead become the storm when he brought the marriage proposal from Robert Baratheon, his foster brother, that her father had promptly accepted.

That her lord father would accept to marry her to the Lord of Storm’s End had shocked her. Lyanna heard the gossip at Amberly. Lord Harrold Rogers stood bannerman to House Baratheon and Robert was his liege lord. Her uncle had been greatly displeased to hear of certain behaviors. Lord Steffon Baratheon, of cherished memory, had been a good man and a good lord who had left rather large shoes to fill. His son did not seem up to the task.

Lyanna had not believed her father oblivious to this talk of Lord Robert and Ned himself had confirmed the existence of a bastard daughter as well his friend’s larger appetites for wenches and drink. “He will be true and love you with all his heart,” Ned had defended.

“Love is sweet, dearest Ned. But it doesn’t change a man’s nature,” she had told him. Ned was still sweet and kind and naive.

“This is your duty to your House, Lyanna, no more, no less. There was a time when I had hoped . . .” her lord father had started saying before shaking his head and looking away from her. “Marriage may tame his ways. And you have been living in the stormlands for a while now. Most of Lord Baratheon’s bannermen know you. They know you in the Rainwood, on the coast, in the Dornish Marches. Your lady aunt tells me you are well-loved from Nightsong to Griffin’s Roost. This is a good match for you. You are not a stranger there.”

It had been nearly three moon’s turns since the ravens had flown announcing the betrothal to the rest of Westeros and it still chafed.

 _You don’t understand,_ she wanted to tell him _, I need to tell you something_ , she wanted to confess, but the look in her father’s eyes had been forbidding. It was the kind of look that meant he would lose his cool if pushed too far. Would that she had found the courage some admired her for and spoken her truth then. Instead, Lyanna had kept her mouth shut.

Lyanna Stark was fierce and fearless. But meek as a mouse, she had retreated into her bedchamber, opened her trunk and began throwing her belongings in it. At least her lord father had kept his word and allowed her to visit with bannermen. She had gone all the way to the Wall, met with Maester Aemon, a sweet old man full of wisdom. He had been happy to see her. Afterward she had gone to Eastwatch-by-the-Sea and taken a ship there all the way to Saltpans and traveled to Lord Harroway’s Town where she waited for Brandon and Benjen to arrive.

She glanced at Brandon from under her eyelashes. While her relationship with Benjen had remained much of the same, she and Brandon had gradually grown distant, drifted, she realized with sadness.

Benjen had been a partner for all occasions, her little brother who practiced at sword with him hidden in the godswood. They pilfered peach and lemon cream tarts from the kitchens together because she loved them and he helped her hide from Old Nan and Maester Walys when she did not want to take her lessons or do anything, really.

Brandon was the brother who helped Hullen, the master of horse, guide her pony, took her riding, the one she ran to with scraped knees and tears staining her cheeks. Brandon had held her hand when Mother had died and told her she was not in the streams or the trees, but in the stars, so she may always watch over them. Brandon was _. . ._ Brandon. Brandon had been her protector. Brandon should have been outraged on her behalf. He should have been outraged that his little sister was being forced to marry someone she did not want.

She and Brandon were worlds apart from each other and she hated that feeling.

“The Greatjon went to Winterfell and asked for your hand in marriage,” he broke the lingering silence.

Lyanna knew what he was doing. The Greatjon’s wife had died and he was looking for another. “I know, he told me as much when I went to Last Hearth for some books Whoresbane promised to lend me.”

“Roose Bolton proposed a match between you and Domeric,” he informed her.

 _Domeric was the good sort_ , Lyanna reflected,  _a nice boy, kind and so unlike his father_. “Roose Bolton is grasping and wants to lay claim to Winterfell any way he can. If Domeric had been born a girl, he would have proposed her as a match for Ned.”

“Robert Baratheon is a better match than you could have hoped for.”

 _And there it is_ , she thought. Greatjon, Domeric . . . she was surprised he had not mentioned Galbart Glover, though kind he was, and that old bent Arnolf Karstark while he was at it.

She snorted. “I am sure what you meant to say was that  _I_   _am_ a better match than that great oaf could have hoped for. He is a drunk and fucks every willing wench he chances upon. I don’t care how handsome he is, that he is a lord paramount, that he is third in line to the throne. He could ride a unicorn or sail a flying ship, I still wouldn’t want to be his lady wife.”

Robert Baratheon was a genial man, quick to smile and laugh. Charismatic and charming. Lyanna was not wholly blind to his charms, nor was she oblivious to that bearded face and those blue eyes.

But Lyanna did not feel her heart hammer in her chest when she was in Lord Robert’s presence. She did not feel her palms sweat or heat rise to her cheeks. She did not feel that ball of nerves coil in her stomach or desire and want pool there. She did not want to launch herself in his arms and stay there and she never had a conversation with him that lasted more than five minutes. Her smiles were not genuine because they never reached her eyes and her laughter sounded hollow. She did not long for him nor did she look forward to seeing him. Robert Baratheon was just . . . there.

He had fallen in love with her before he had ever laid eyes on her, then they had met and Ned had been pleased to see that the stormlord was even more enchanted with her. That was two years ago at the tourney at Ashford. Lyanna had tried to steer clear of him. She had not wanted him to get the wrong idea, but she had clearly failed at that. The marriage proposal should not have come as a surprise, but it did. And it left Lyanna feeling cold inside.

This tourney was going to last ten days. That was ten days of seeing him every day, ten days of doing her damnest to avoid him.

“I want no part of him or what he has to offer,” she said. “I --”

“The bastard --”

“-- Do you think me so petty, Brother? I don’t have a problem with his bastard. That little girl did not ask to come into the world.”

“No. But women don’t look kindly on their husbands byblows.”

“It’s a good thing he will not be my husband, then.”

Brandon wrenched her arm and forced her to stop her horse. “You are  _hurting_ me!” she looked down at his fingers, digging into the skin under the leather she wore. She had no doubt he would leave her with bruises. She thought he meant to pull her down from her horse, but he didn’t.

“Listen to me and listen to me well, sweet sister. Robert Baratheon will be at the tourney with Ned. You will be charming and polite and behave yourself as a lady ought to. I know you are exceptionally capable of doing just that. If he asks you to dance with him, you will put your hand into his and let him lead you to the dance floor. If he asks you to go on a ride with him, you will saddle your horse and do just that. If he asks you for your favor, you  _will_  give him your favor. If he makes a jape, you will laugh.”

“I am not a puppet that you would pull my strings, Brandon.”

“No. You are not, but you will listen. Here in Father’s absence,  _I am your lord_.” Brandon squeezed harder, his grey eyes blazing with anger.  _Strike me, I dare you,_ she wanted to tell him _. If he did, she did not think she could forgive him._ “I want you to do your duty. You will be married to the man, you will bear his children. Give him a son, you need not spread your legs for him after that.”

“Yes, because Robert Baratheon will stop at one son and stop himself from taking what he wants because I do not desire him? I thought you loved me better than this,” Lyanna replied in anger, tugging her arm out of his grasp. She felt her throat tighten. “The difference between you and I is that I am honest with my feelings. The man may love me, but I do not love him. His face is always flushed with drink, he stinks of wine and ale and he is handsy.”

“What has love got anything to do with this? The man enjoys life. Let him! This is your duty to your House, Lyanna. You are a Stark of Winterfell. Honor --”

“ _\--honor_?” She would have laughed if she hadn’t wanted to cry. “Do you think of Catelyn Tully’s honor when you’re fucking Barbrey Ryswell, or some wench from some holdfast you chanced upon, Brother? Do you think of your honor or hers or the honor of your House when you spill your seed inside these women?” She wheeled her horse around and faced him. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Benjen glancing at them warily. He had kept his distance from them. Wisely.  “Do not speak to me of Stark honor.”

“Your marriage is important,” he hissed before he lowered his voice to a whisper. “This alliance with Storm’s End is important. The king grows mad, he  _burns_ people, or have you forgotten? And the noble and  _valiant_ Prince Rhaegar hasn’t so much as lifted a finger to stop him. The time may come when the Mad Dragon will need to be put down. For good and all. The whole lot of them.”

Her eyes widened at that. She felt nausea churn in her belly and her heart squeeze from beating so fast. He was wrong, she was certain of this. Her father would never raise his hand against the Targaryens, and if it came to it that Aerys needed to be removed from power, surely her lord father would support the rightful heir to the Iron Throne. Her father was a loyal man. But Brandon sounded  _so sure_  of himself. “Did Father say this to you?”

He scowled at her. “No. Father never said anything of the sort. He didn’t discuss anything with me other than to say you would be the lady of Storm’s End.”

 _Gods be good, where had her brother gotten these notions?_  she wondered. “Careful what you say, Brother, this is treasonous talk and there are ears  _everywhere_ here. Prince Rhaegar is but one man and his father thinks him a traitor besides.” This talk was madness. “And pray tell, Brother, would you answer the prince’s summons if he told you he meant to remove his father from power? Would you pledge him Winterfell’s allegiance? Would you pledge him your sword? Would you  _fight_ beside him if it came to that? Would you lead his vanguard into war? Do you think the Mad King would go quietly? There would be war and he would see his son dead first before he ever stepped down from that monstrosity of a throne.”

Brandon said nothing and Lyanna’s heart sank. “I never took you for a craven, Brandon. You can’t level these kinds of accusations at the prince and not be willing to answer his call and swear him your sword if it came to that.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “I am no craven, Sister,” he whispered harshly. “ _All_ of this is up to Father. Father is the only one who can swear allegiance as the Lord of Winterfell and the Warden of the North. Not me. I will do as he bids me. As should you.”

Lyanna had always been restless. She was a wild child, and Brandon was wilder still. Wolf-blooded as their father liked to say. They had been peas in a pod. “You grow more beautiful every time I see you,” he took a hold of her long braid and studied it. “I don’t think even Cersei Lannister holds a candle to you. I remember the day I put that wooden sword in your little hand. Father was displeased, but he said nothing, because Mother did not seem to mind. She said you would grow out of it. She was wrong.” His mouth twisted. “Would that you could have stayed five forever with no concern for marriage or any of this.”

 _If you only knew, Brother. I could tell him everything here and now_. Could she trust his temper? Brandon’s mirths were as wild as his rages but he was her brother. “I --”

“You will do as you are bid, Lyanna. Our lady aunt has been far too permissive with you. And your willfulness and this tongue of yours will only buy you an early grave,” he interrupted her.

It was as though she had been doused with ice water. The moment was gone and she gazed at his face, searching for something she did not find. “Why can’t you be like other maidens? You need to learn your place before you marry. Robert may love you now, but once you are under his roof, things may not go so well if you don’t curb your tendencies.”

She imagined Robert Baratheon serving her a backhand for saying something that displeased him, or pinning her down in his bed with his weight while he raped his pleasure from her because he had had too much to drink. She felt a cold chill run up and down her spine.  _Thankfully, it will never happen_. “I feel sorry for the Lady Catelyn if this is the man you’ve become, Brandon. You’re not all that different from Robert Baratheon after all,” she replied coolly.

“This is the kind of talk that will send you sliding across a room one of these days.”

“Would it please you to see a man hit me for speaking my mind?”

He shook his head. “No. Never. Don’t mistake me, Sister. I love you. I do. But you were born to duty, same as I was. I would sooner have my freedom than a wife. I would sooner travel the world than become the Lord of Winterfell. But I was born to rule the north. I have to set aside the things I truly want and become the man Father and the north expect me to be. It would be a shame if I became known as Brandon the Unworthy or Brandon the Sot.” Lyanna chuckled at that.

“Lord Robert loves you and the way I see it, that puts you ahead of a lot of people. You may even come to love him, Lyanna, if you gave him half a chance. There’s only one person Ned loves more than Robert Baratheon, and that is you, Sister. If Ned thinks Robert will be good for you, then I have to believe that he will be. Speaking your mind when you were ten was sweet but you are a woman grown now and you need to watch what you say. Maidens across the realm would trip over themselves to be wedded and bedded by Lord Robert.”

Lyanna smirked at him. “In that case, they are welcome to him, so long as it’s not me.” She pulled on the reins of her mare. “Bran, he is not the man for me,” she said softly. “He just isn’t. I know it, and I think you do, too. He is in love with some fantasy he had created.”

“He will give you the freedom you crave.”

“I already have all the freedom I could want,” Lyanna replied. Robert Baratheon would never put his bride cloak upon her shoulders. There would be no heavy gold velvets lined with satin worked with the stag of Baratheon draped about her slender frame. That much Lyanna knew.

She put her heels to her horse and spurred her into a trot. Before she knew it, Lyanna was galloping across the fields, traveling south. Harrenhal was rising slowly ahead of her, a monstrous looking castle. Beyond it, she could see the calm waters of the Gods Eye.

She had been looking forward to the tourney. Living in the south, she had been present at a number of them. She had gone all the way to Lannisport, up to Storm’s End, though the memory of what had happened there rankled and her nightmares were not wholly gone. She had gone to Griffin’s Roost and Ashford and seen tourneys at King’s Landing. Harrenhal promised to be the biggest and greatest tourney yet. She reined up and looked at the field where tents had sprung like mushrooms.

She saw the golden rose of Tyrell, the lion of Lannister, the nightingales of Caron, the sun and spear of Martell, the dancing griffins, fighting swans, the prancing stag and so many more. Everything was alive with color, a maze of silks and canvas. She glimpsed the grey direwolf of Stark between  the merman of Manderly and the battle-axes of Cerwyn, right across from the seahorse of Velaryon. Ned had arrived ahead of his siblings it seemed, and if she had to wager, he was sitting somewhere with Lord Robert, while the man drunk himself silly and ogled some girl.

Unwittingly, she tugged at the necklace around her neck to anchor herself. A long chain with a rose pendant wrought in iron, infused with the same blue color of the winter rose. Her most cherished possession.

Not far from the cookfires, she spied Prince Rhaegar Targaryen striding toward the pavilion that bore his silk banner, a red three-headed dragon upon a black field. He was difficult to miss, the Prince of Dragonstone, with that silver-blond hair whipping in the warm breeze of spring and the two kingsguard shadowing him. He cut a striking figure dressed in black and wearing a velvet traveler’s cloak that swept to the ground, catching the grass as he walked. If he had already arrived, it meant the king was here too, inside one of the towers of the castle. _Things would be so much easier if that mad man died_ , she thought, not for the first time and not for the last. The realm loved the prince and he had proven himself capable of running the kingdom while the Mad King had been held prisoner at Duskendale. The realm would be in good hands once he ascended.

She dismounted from her horse and walked toward the stables. “I’m sure the stableboy will have a nice apple for you, Comet,” she patted her mare’s neck and looked into her big dark red eyes. “Maybe I can convince him to give you two apples. What do you say, my sweet?” Comet nuzzled at her neck and she giggled. “Two it is. Come on. Maybe there’s a stall free close to Midnight’s. Your brother should be in there too. I know you missed him.”


	2. Unraveling Plots

_How did that old saying go_ , Ser Arthur Dayne tried to remember. _Oh, yes! Lesser men destroy what better men make._ There was also the saying about the gods destroying . . . maybe he was thinking of that? He shook his head. In this case, it mattered not, he knew. The gods had naught to do with it. It had been lesser men. Aerys and the Spider.

Arthur chanced a look at his friend as they crossed through the godswood of Harrenhal. He looked calm on the outside, keeping up the façade that he had carefully crafted over the years, but Arthur knew better than to take it for anything more than what it was. He knew there was a storm raging inside.

“Rhaegar . . .”

They had arrived yesterday after five long days on the road. Normally, the trip from King’s Landing to Harrenhal was a swift one. Fifty leagues as the raven flew. Riding up or down the kingsroad was nothing to them. It was something Arthur could do with his eyes closed. But with Aerys accompanying them and the wheelhouse creaking, the numerous stops, various people attaching themselves to their party, the voyage had dragged on and on and on . . . and on. It was enough to drive a sane man to madness.  _And make a mad man slip even further into his own madness_ , Arthur reflected. They were all exhausted, but none of them as much as the prince was. Dealing with Aerys under normal circumstances was a challenge. Rhaegar had scarcely slept during this trip, had scarcely slept at all in the past four moon’s turns.

“Did you hear him rant?” his friend had asked not for the first time.

The only way Arthur could have missed the rant was if he had been deaf. In fact, Arthur was _certain_ the entire party had heard the king ranting about Whitewalls, going on and on about Daemon the Younger and treason, the hatching of dragons, his grandsire uncovering rebellion with that giant hedge knight he was squiring for.

As a White Sword, Arthur knew exactly who the 'giant' hedge knight Aerys Targaryen had been referring to. Duncan the Tall had been the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, the man who had braved the flames of Summerhall to save his best friend’s life, mere minutes after he had been born.

That was something Aerys had not failed to point out to his son, all the people that had died that day. And why wouldn't he? The king had become a cruel man. Rhaegar had looked at his father whose head had been sticking out of the window of the wheelhouse and said nothing. Saying anything to Aerys when he was getting himself worked up always made things much _much_ worse. Rhaegar knew better than to do that while there was a crowd around them.

 _“A plot!”_ Aerys had raised his bony finger, the gnarled long nail catching in the curtain of the wheelhouse for a short instant before he whipped it in the air. _“This is a traitors’ tourney too. It may not be the Blackfyres, but Lord Varys . . . !”_ Aerys had continued on his rant and Arthur had noticed how Rhaegar’s eyes had become unfocused and distant. It could have been worse, he had surmised. Rhaegar could have been forced inside the wheelhouse to travel the rest of the way in too close confines with his royal sire. He did not think his prince could bear it. _“Mark my words, my son! This is a traitor’s tourney as well . . . traitors everywhere, lords who would see me dead, my own son . . .,”_ he had begun to weep _. “My own son . . . he loves me not,”_ he had said as though said son had not been there. He had then retreated back into the wheelhouse not to be seen again until they had arrived at Lord Walter Whent’s castle.

Arthur had sighed in relief and Rhaegar had just taken his spurs to his horse and galloped as fast and as far as he could, Arthur following behind him. They had stopped on the shores of the Gods Eye, a few miles south from Harrenhal. Rhaegar had not said much, but Arthur knew what he was thinking just the same. If Aerys knew _half_ of what his son had been up to . . . Harrenhal was barely a scratch on the surface.

“I wouldn’t pay attention to that,” Ser Oswell Whent was saying, his white crisp cloak clacking in the breeze.

“He wasn’t wrong,” Rhaegar whispered.

“No. He was not. But Oswell is right,” Arthur said looking at his friend. Rhaegar had been a brother to him in all but name. He was his closest friend and something of a kindred spirit. They even shared Valyrian features, though House Dayne was not Valyrian in origin.

Unlike Arthur, however, Rhaegar never truly seemed to fit anywhere. His melancholy nature, his drive when it came to prophecy among other things had ensured that. Rhaegar had always been something of an outsider, bearing his burdens with quiet dignity. Arthur understood that. The title he carried, the Sword of the Morning, meant much and more to his family and its honor. Arthur understood the weight of duty all too well. “We are here, try and make the most of it,” he advised him. What else could he say to him?

“Make the most of it,” Rhaegar scoffed. “Months of preparations and for what? I will have nothing to show for when this is over. Lord Varys . . .”

“. . . the talk around the Red Keep.” Oswell whispered, “is that if you say his name or any of his nicknames three times he appears.”

Rhaegar gave the Kingsguard a bewildered look. “The man is not a wizard!”

“He’s not a man neither,” Oswell muttered.

“You ought to do something about the tunnels,” Arthur said.

“I can’t,” Rhaegar replied. “I make use of those tunnels. It makes no matter. We are dancing on rotten ice. One crack and we will all drown. The Spider will see to it. He will drown us all in blood.”

“ _Blood_?” Oswell snorted. “If only. I would much rather drown in blood, die with my sword in hand than be strapped to a contraption and set ablaze. Aerys is overfond of Rossart’s pyromancers and that jade demon they piss out. We are more like to drown in fire than blood. Although our valiant prince here,” Ser Oswell threw a side glance at the man beside him, “is more like to have his pretty head lopped off and mounted on a spike to adorn the walls of the Red Keep. Aerys would be too frightened you would be reborn a dragon if he had you dipped in that green liquid.”

“That is morbid even for you, Oswell,” Ser Arthur Dayne cut in with warning voice. “Is it Harrenhal that has this effect on you, brother?”

Ser Oswell Whent shrugged. “It’s nothing you have not thought of yourself, Arthur.”

He had the truth of that. How many days or nights had Arthur lain awake, staring at the ceiling in the White Sword Tower, thinking of the consequences of all of this. Arthur was a loyal man. He had been loyal to his House first. And when he came to court and befriended the bookish prince, he became loyal to him. Arthur had known Rhaegar most of his life and knew he was a man worth following. Rhaegar was exceedingly intelligent and able above all. He was determined and dutiful, deliberate, kind and gentle. The Prince of Dragonstone was a giant who never made anyone feel small. He understood the games played around him very well and had made a power move only a handful of people were aware of. Rhaegar intended to keep his cards close to vest until he was well and ready for the realm to find out.

Arthur had chosen his prince as his king, he had bent the knee, sworn him his sword and his support in his attempts at ushering change in the realm. Rhaegar wanted to call a Great Council and Arthur was resolved to stay by his friend and prince whatever may come. Aerys may command him, but Arthur was Rhaegar’s man just as Oswell was and they would both fall on their own swords for him.

“If it were only my life, I _wouldn’t_ care,” Rhaegar said softly, his gaze becoming distant. “But the thought of . . . the nightmares I have been having. If they ever became reality. He watches me and all I wonder is how long before he finds out.”

“It has been a little over a year. If he knew, you wouldn’t be here,” Oswell said confidently. “If he  _knew_ , he would have turned your life to ash already.”

“He could be biding his time,” Rhaegar replied, “waiting for what he deems to be the right moment before he strikes. The way Lord Varys looks at me makes my skin crawl. It’s as though he is trying to unearth my secrets one by one with one look.”

“What do you think his objectives are? Lord Varys. He says he serves the realm, but everything he has done has been in disservice to the realm.”

“He wants me disowned, that much is clear,” Rhaegar said in a detached tone. “If I am disowned, any children I may have will never sit the throne. I could think of a worse fate than that. But my father’s mind has gone, Viserys is too young and would need a regent. I don’t think my brother’s mind is sound,” the prince became sad. “Sometimes, I see the same things in his eyes that I see in my father’s. I would gladly abdicate, go to Essos and prepare for what’s coming from there. But leaving the realm in Viserys’s hands frightens me more than I can say.”

“Aerys and his lickspittles will destroy the realm before Viserys ever has the chance to do that,” Oswell replied.

“Your words are always of great comfort, ser,” Rhaegar said dryly.

“I aim to please, Your Grace.”

“I have one cheeky person in my life and she is far prettier than you will ever be,” Rhaegar said. “You can stop with your terrible japes.”

Arthur pushed the hair the breeze has blown in his face away. “He is here now, Aerys. What will you do?”

Rhaegar shrugged. “The only thing I can do is enter the lists.”

“You were not planning on that.”

“No, I was not, but I have my armor here and I will make use of it. I will show the lords that the heir to the Iron Throne still knows how to use his lance. I will make a good show of presence. Come the day, I want them to know they have another option. A viable one.”

“You think you’ll win?”

Rhaegar snorted. “Sure. When Barristan the Bold stops entering the lists. Has there ever been a tourney when I have not been unhorsed by him?”

"One that I can remember," Arthur said.

Silence fell on the small group as they trudged through the godswood. It was early spring and the day was slowly warming. The grounds were in bloom with vivid colors of reds and blues and yellows, purples and greens. The noise coming from the grounds receded the deeper they walked into the godswood and Arthur was glad for it. What Rhaegar Targaryen wanted, he could not have. The peace and quiet of the godswood would have to do for the time being.

They stopped before the large weirwood. _Can trees hate?_ Arthur wondered, recalling their short trip to the Isle of Faces. Arthur had never felt so out of place as he had felt there, but Rhaegar seemed to take to it like a duck took to water.

“They watch us from their island,” Rhaegar said, tracing the eyes and the mouth with a finger before closing his eyes, bowing his head and resting his hand there, on the bone-white trunk. He said nothing for a while, and Arthur knew he was praying. “I don’t think they would be pleased with the things they saw and heard. What they must think of me, plotting to remove my father from my life and my king from his throne.” He opened his eyes and stared at the tree a while longer.

Arthur sighed. “I think the gods would understand. You swore vows when you became a knight. Serve, protect. Your plans are the seal of your devotion to your vows. Your mother suffers because of him. The realm suffers under him. He _burns_ people for sport. He will take all that you love and hold dear from you to teach you a lesson. He would see you dead if he could.”

Rhaegar pulled his hand away from the weirwood and rubbed his thumb against his fingers where the sap had stuck to them. “I feel their power here, their pull, the old gods. Same as I did when we went to the Isle of Faces or whenever I go to the Rainwood. I still hear my name spoken in the rustle of the leaves.”

He unfastened the three-headed dragon clasp that held his cloak together and tucked it in his pocket. He then  unbuckled his sword belt and sat it against the weirwood before he unbuttoned his doublet. It was black, velvet, slashed with black satin. The sigil of his House embroidered with red thread upon the breast.

He removed a stray silver-blond hair from the stiff high collar and folded the doublet in half, laying it atop a low-hanging branch. He adjusted his dark red tunic, then sat and and stretched his legs in front of him. Myles Mooton who had been following them quietly threw him an apple before he did the same for Arthur.

“Where’s my apple?” Oswell inquired.

“You said you didn’t want one,” Myles replied.

“Is the Night’s Watch here?”

Myles pulled a parchment from his doublet, “Aye. Ser Denys Mallister has come from the Shadow Tower. He arrived after we did.”

“Lord Commander Qorgyle sent a knight?” Arthur asked. “That’s was a clever choice.”

“Who else?”

“Mace Tyrell and most of his bannermen are here. Lady Olenna is here as well. Best _avoid_ her. Ser Kevan Lannister is here with a sizable contingent from the westerlands. Your cousin Robert --”

“-- I am sure he will bloody someone during the mêlée with his weapon of choice,” Rhaegar muttered with irritation and Arthur sighed inwardly, watching the prince take an angry bite from his apple.

“Very likely,” Myles replied. “Our lord of griffins has been scowling since his liege lord arrived with Lord Arryn and the Valemen. His face is near as red as his hair and beard. It is not a pretty sight, I must say.”

“Lord Baratheon does not care who scowls at him,” Arthur said.

He and Oswell had stripped their cloaks off. Arthur sat and unsheathed his sword, Dawn, and began running an oil cloth along the blade. Oswell balled his white cloak under his head, stretched out and closed his eyes. If he fell asleep, it would not be long before loud snores drowned any conversation they may have.

“I wish he had stayed away,” Rhaegar said.

“And miss a chance at all the wenches? The Vale is not big enough for that man’s appetites,” Arthur said.

“Who else is here?”

“I saw Brandon Stark and his brothers. Lord Rickard did not make the trip.”

Arthur looked up from his sword and his eyes met Rhaegar’s. Violet on indigo. “Lord Stark has never been one for tourneys,” he said with a cautious tone. “And Varys reported some trouble with the mountain clans. You know they are quarrelsome bunch. They may be in need of mediation. That alone may have kept him from coming south.”

Arthur knew how much Rhaegar had wanted to speak to the Warden of the North. “You are planning on going north in less than a moon’s turn, you will be able to speak to him then. And perhaps it’s better that you do so at Winterfell.”

“This has gone on too long, Arthur,” Rhaegar replied. “It has become unbearable.”

 _For all of us_ , Arthur wanted to reply.

“What will you do about Varys?” Myles sat down. His hand rummaged in his satchel. He pulled an apple out for himself and bit into it.

 _Varys had taken a torch to their plans,_ Arthur thought _. The Spider whispered in the king’s ear and laid everything to waste._ Aerys bringing Lord Varys from Lys had been the worst thing to happen. Then there was Tywin Lannister whom none of them really trusted. Arthur had suggested the man be kept well out of their plans and Rhaegar had agreed with the notion. Lord Tywin had not given up on the idea that his daughter should marry the prince. Rhaegar had wanted none of it and none of her. They would not go to him nor ask for his help. Instead, Tywin Lannister would be forced to fall in line once Rhaegar got the other lords to support him, and he would owe him nothing. Rhaegar had often wondered if the lord of Casterly Rock had not had a hand in what happened at Duskendale. The high taxes on the ports, the needling of Aerys into not going, knowing full well he would do the opposite of what his Lord Hand recommended . . . Rhaegar had grown wary of the man.

It had taken Rhaegar a while to accept his father’s madness. Aerys had always walked a thin line between madness and normalcy. Like a strong gust of wind, the Defiance of Duskendale had blown him right into madness and on that side he remained. That had been a painful truth for the prince and tensions between father and son had only grown. What was left of a father who had once loved his son, a man who had been proud of his son was a cruel and twisted shell of a person.

“It’s the Stranger I ought to be praying to. It would be easier for everyone if he just died,” the prince said. Oswell sat up abruptly and stared at him for a beat.

“Aye, it would be easier, but kinslayers are accursed by the gods and cursed by men. Praying for it or cutting his throat yourself is the same thing. Is that how you wish to begin your reign?” asked Oswell. “You have always been above thoughts like these. You are a good man, a good prince, and you will be a king worthy of the people’s loyalty, Rhaegar. There is naught but darkness if you choose to follow this path.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be asleep?” Myles asked.

“It’s hard to sleep when this one talks about praying to the Stranger to take Aerys away,” Oswell pushed an auburn lock away from his face with one hand while gesturing at the prince with the other. “The man barely eats and is frail. The Stranger will come for him sooner rather than later.”

“Sometimes I fear he will outlive us all. I was thinking of the day I went to the Great Sept, is all. I do not wish him dead. He is still my father and I loved him once. He can call himself king so long as I become regent. And if he will not go quietly, then I want him in chains, on Dragonstone, under heavy guard, where he can live out the rest of  his days. I want the people I love safe from him. I want to be allowed my choices, be free to my own life.”

“Forget all of this and try to enjoy yourself. It’s a tourney. Winter is finally over --” Oswell said.

“-- and also coming,” Rhaegar replied, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“Even the Starks are right every now and again. Be that as it may . . . I know you are worried about everyone, but what is it that your princess always says to you?”

“ _Let the world fall away, Rhaegar_ ,” he said and his face lit up. “I wish I could . . .,” he stopped speaking. They knew what he wished for.

“That is not letting the world fall away,” Oswell quipped and the prince threw the core of his apple at him. He moved quickly out of the way. “Careful with the whites! It would not do for a Kingsguard to have apple stains on his clothing.”

“It was not your clothing I was aiming for. It was your head.”

“Poor aim, friend.”

Rhaegar shrugged, but the smile remained. Arthur thought the cloud might have been lifting just a little. _Let the world fall away_ , she would always whisper to him when things became too much to bear.

“Did you hear that?” Rhaegar asked, his head whipped to the left, towards the field that lay between the godswood and the tourney grounds where the pavilions had been raised. “Grunting.”

Arthur heard it too. It sounded as though someone was in pain. There were other sounds too, thumping and then angry voices.

Rhaegar picked up his sword and walked slowly in the direction the noise was coming from. Myles was beside him, holding his apple between his teeth trying to fasten his sword belt properly. Behind him, Arthur had donned his cloak and Oswell was doing the same before they fell in step next to him. Oswell’s hand hovered near the hilt of his sword, ready to protect his prince. There had been an attempt at Rhaegar's life once and none of them would take that chance of being complacent. 

“What is it?” Myles whispered.

“There,” Arthur lifted his chin towards three squires kicking someone who was down.

“Oh, what in the name . . .?” Arthur saw the bronze scales and the frog spear and a net thrown near by. “Is that a crannogman they are beating?” Rhaegar asked starting toward them.

“Leave off, Rhaegar,” Oswell put his hand on the prince’s shoulder. “I will go. This land belongs to my family and my brother will not tolerate this.”

“You can both stay put,” Arthur pointed once more at the small group. A young woman, her thick brown hair weaved into a plait stalked toward them with a determined step, tourney sword in hand. Lady Stark, Arthur knew at once. He had seen her the day before riding a beautiful white mare.

“ _Hey_! That’s my father’s man you’re kicking,” they heard her shout as she stretched her sword arm and pointed at them.

“He’s a mudman, a craven and a sneak like all of his kind,” one of the squires replied, showing her his steel.

“His  _kind_? Three to one,” she responded, “I think that makes _you_ a craven. My father is the Warden of the North. I could have his bannermen come down on your like the wrath of the gods.”

“Savages.”

“ _You_ are beating a defenseless man and you call northmen savages?” she gave the squire an incredulous look.

“Run along little girl.”

“She is a fair one,” one of the squires commented. “We should keep her around. Might be I’ll take a gander at what’s under her breeches after we’re done with the mudman.”

“ _No_ ,” Arthur heard Rhaegar whisper with a strangled voice. He made to rush the field, but Arthur held him back and they both watched as the girl leapt at the squire who had threatened her. Arthur watched her thick brown braid whip around as she hit him. She twirled the hilt of her tourney sword between her fingers and right back into the palm of her hand.

“I have to stop this,” Rhaegar tried to move out from under the trees and the shadows, but Arthur tightened his grip. “I know your instinct is to protect, but let her. She can more than handle herself,” Arthur said.

“But . . .” Rhaegar looked at him with wide eyes. “He _threatened to rape_ her.”

“He will not lay a finger on her because we will not let him. We’ll keep an eye on her.”

“ _Rhaegar_ Frey,” Oswell Whent announced with amusement in his voice and Rhaegar Targaryen scowled deeply at that, his fist involuntarily clenched at his side before he leaned his body against the sentinel tree, folded his arms against his chest and waited. Arthur saw anger writ plain on his face, saw the muscle on his jaw tick and jump from tension. “A _dragon’s_ name,” Oswell hooted, doubling over from trying to keep from laughing out loud, watching the squire get hit on the arm.

 _It was somewhat amusing_ , Arthur thought. The prince did not agree with the sentiment, however, and threw Oswell a murderous look.

“Shut up, Oswell,” Myles whispered.

The Kingsguard shrugged. “Well, _it is_ his name.”

Arthur watched as the lady switched hands mid-air, catching the hilt and hitting the squire square in his soft belly with the flat of the blade.

She was plainly dressed, in wools and boiled leather, black breeches and riding boots of the same color, brown jerkin. There was nary direwolf on her clothing, nor a stitch of grey or white. It was hard to believe that this was the daughter of the Warden of the North. Highborn ladies did not swing swords, string bows, ride horses astride, or wear breeches. But then they all knew never to judge a book by its cover.

They watched her get all her weight behind her blade, pivot and deliver a sidestroke. She drove one of her foes backward. The squire in what looked like Frey colors stumbled backward, defending himself clumsily. When he raised his own sword, the girl went underneath it with a sweeping blow that crunched against the back of his leg and sent him staggering. He did not wait around for more. He threw down his weapon and scattered. The second squire lost his footing and fell down hard into the mud. The lady knocked his sword from his fingers with a slash to his wrist that brought a cry of pain.

 _Lovely_ , Arthur thought. _Lovelier than lovely, in fact. Skilled. Mindful of where her foe was_. Good. This was very good.

“Gods be good,” Myles muttered under his breath. He and Oswell had taken a knee in the tall grass as they watched this slip of a woman dance around the third squire and land a savage blow across his left thigh. It was so hard his leg went from under him and he fell to the ground. Out of the corner of his eye, Arthur saw Myles wince, while Oswell smirked. “That is going to leave a bruise.”

“They deserve it, and then some,” Rhaegar said. Arthur could see his friend’s eyes shining, the dimples at the corner of his mouth as he smiled. Four turns since he had smiled a smile that reached his eyes. He did not need to wonder what was going through his mind.

“I remember when my father sat me down to discuss marriage,” Oswell said. “I could not have been older than three-and-ten. I told him I wanted someone who could swing a sword and loved to ride horses. He laughed at me, said I should have been born in the court of Aegon the Conqueror. ‘Women embroider, run households and birth children,’ he said.” Oswell had taken on a stern voice. Arthur imagine that was what his lord father must have sounded like. “I wish he were alive to see this. There’s something beautiful about a woman being able to defend herself like this. It’s like songs, poetry.”

Arthur shook his head and rolled his eyes at his friend. Oswell knew how to swing a sword, was superb with a bow, but he was tone deaf when it came to music. Never mind poetry.

“Shouldn’t we put an end to this?” Myles asked.

“No. Serves them right.” Arthur turned his attention back to the girl who stood there her chest heaving from anger and exertion. “The crannogmen seldom leave the Neck,” Rhaegar was explaining, “and when one of them does, he gets a beating? And for what?”

There was one squire with the twin towers of Frey on his surcoat on the ground, the two other having already fled the scene. He was on the ground, staring up at her his left arm shielding his face as she stood over him. “Get up and go, stupid!” her voice came through clear and crisp and angry. “Threaten anyone with rape again and I will have you gelded.” The squire did not need to be told twice. He got to his feet and rushed away, looking over his shoulder a couple of times to make sure she wasn’t following him.

The lady threw down the tourney sword and got to one knee. She took hold of the crannogman’s face and looked to be studying his bruises. She said something to him before she helped him back to his feet. Her arm circled his waist and she let him lean against her.

“Myles,” Rhaegar turned to his former squire. “Follow them. Discreetly. Make sure she is not taken unawares by those three idiots, in case they get it in their heads to ambush her. You are more like to blend in than these two,” he pointed his chin at his two Kingsguard, “or myself.”

Myles nodded and walked between the sentinel trees and through the tall grass before he reached the field. He headed toward the pavilions, following her at a respectable distance.

Rhaegar stood under the trees for a long while after Lord Stark’s daughter had vanished between the pavilions, staring at the spot where she had rescued the crannogman from something that may have become worse than a beating. Oswell said nothing and neither did Arthur. But as the sun began to set, he suddenly moved out from between the trees. “Oswell, please get my doublet and cloak. I left them at the weirwood.” Rhaegar walked onto the field and bent, picking up a pendant, dangling at the end of a broken intricate chain. The pendant was a blue rose wrought in iron. It was alive with color in the lights of setting sun. Arthur thought the chain must have broken while the lady was fighting off the squires.

Rhaegar pocketed the necklace and started toward the pavilions.


	3. The Dragon Prince

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I fully acknowledge that the timeline with what's canon is total crap. Just go with it.

He had come up the dais and pulled the chair up for his father,  _like the dutiful son that I am_ , he thought bitterly, before taking his own seat. The serving girl came around him and poured wine into his goblet, then everyone raised their hands to toast to the good health of Aerys Targaryen, Second of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, _long may he reign_.

To the health of the prince and princess, may they be blessed with children, the cups were raised, followed by a long string of other insignificant toasts. Rhaegar had grown restless and frustrated the longer this went on. Then mercifully, the first course was called for and Rhaegar was finally able to sit and not play at pretend. _I don’t want his reign to be long. I want him gone,_ he told himself as he gave his father a sideway look.

Aerys looked like something that had sprung out from the nightmares Rhaegar had when he was a small boy. He wondered if that was what the fabled Others looked like. Aerys looked half a corpse, a man with one foot in the grave. _He even smells like death_ , he thought. And yet, Rhaegar could feel life radiate from him. He saw his life’s blood beat in the thick blue vein at his pulse point, he noticed his hands shake and twitch, he heard the quick inhales of breath, saw him nibble at his food after he was assured by his taster it had not been poisoned.

What must everyone think seeing Aerys for the first time since Duskendale, he wondered. More than a year had come and gone since his father had been freed from the dungeons of the Dun Fort. He was so thin he looked like he could break at any moment. His hair was unkempt, his nails long and yellow. His beard was a tangled mess where food got stuck more often than not. He did not allow anyone with anything sharp near him. Bathing was a problem as he was terrified of drowning. Rhaegar had often wondered what Lord Darklyn and his Myrish wife had done to his father while they held him prisoner, but for a son who had loved his father, there were things that did not bear thinking on. And Rhaegar had truly loved his father once.

He remembered the days when his royal father used to take his hand and walk along the hallways, showing him the dragon skulls, telling him stories of Aegon the Conqueror, Jaehaerys the Conciliator, Daeron the Young Dragon, Prince Aemon the Dragonknight, men who had been the pride and the glory of their House. Memories like these had made Rhaegar hopeful and he thought with all his heart that his father could be fixed. All he needed was to be home, surrounded with the people that had cared for him. That was naught but delusion, Rhaegar saw that plainly now. Aerys had always danced too close to madness, but this was unlike anything Rhaegar had ever seen nor foreseen. It was a change and a new reality he had been forced to accept. There was no trace left of his father in this man and no compassion left in his king. Things had irreversibly changed between father and son.

Below the dais, the trestle tables were abuzz with chatter and laughter. The Stark table was in the middle of the hall so Rhaegar had a really good view of them. He saw Brandon Stark who would one day become the Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, though he prayed that would be a long way still. He saw Eddard Stark who had spent most of his life in the Vale speaking with the Warden of the East, Lord Jon Arryn. He watched the youngest boy, Benjen, sneak more wine into his cup. The boy was well on his way to being good and drunk.

But it was the face of Lyanna Stark that his eyes kept being drawn to.

He had been struck dumb when he saw her arrive in the hall, escorted by two of her brothers. His heart had thudded loudly in his chest and he felt his palms begin to sweat. A flush had crept up his neck and the hall had become stifling. He had to tug at his doublet’s high collar once, then a second time before he undid the first two buttons hoping it would help. His mind had been scrubbed clean. Everything had become muted and nothing mattered any longer, not his father who looked fit to begin to weep over gods only knew what, or the lords stopping by the dais to present their sons or daughters.

Lyanna Stark’s skin was as white as the fresh fallen snow. She wore a confection of pale grey samite with a tightly laced bodice that bared her shoulders and the swell of her breasts. Unbound, her thick soft nut-brown hair tumbled over her white shoulders in loose waves down her back almost to her small waist. Around her brow was a slim rope of sapphires no bigger than fingernails, her only concession to vanity. The skirts of her dress flowed grey, but under the samite, through the slit that ran from mid-thigh down to her feet, milk-white silks peaked whenever she took a step or whenever she sat and crossed one leg over the other. She wore a choker of myrish lace around her slender neck, white with the grey direwolf of her House intricately embroidered that became hidden when she moved her mane over her one shoulder. Her smile was wide and open and her eyes shone brilliantly in the light.

Lyanna Stark was a vision and Rhaegar Targaryen was captivated. Entranced. He thought she would vanish if he took his eyes off her. He did not want that.

He recalled her a mere three hours earlier, with jerkin, breeches and boots, a tourney sword in hand, looking like some avenging goddess. He thought her lovely, but Lyanna Stark was truly as beautiful as beauty was. And the smile on her rosey lips was so sweet, he decided it could melt the snows in the north. Then she laughed at something someone said, and Rhaegar felt his heart thump even harder in his chest.

After dessert had been served, the benches were moved to make room for dancing, but before that, Rhaegar had sat with his harp and sang. When he had opened his eyes, he saw her cry as she stared at him and her hand had flown to her chest as if to grab something that was not there. Rhaegar thought she might have been looking for her necklace.

Afterward, he stood with Jon Connington who had been glaring daggers at his liege lord. Robert Baratheon’s face was already flushed with drink.

“People will notice,” Rhaegar whispered.

“He and Richard are having a wine-cup war. With their size, this could go on until morning.”

Rhaegar had asked Richard Lonmouth to keep an eye on the lord of Storm’s End. He was unsure how keeping an eye on someone turned into several drinking contests. Rhaegar had thought his former squire would take his lord to the training yard and go a few rounds with him since they both enjoyed hitting things. He made a mental note to tell him to rein his behavior in.

“My lord Baratheon tried to grope one of the serving wenches during service,” Jon was telling him, “and I caught him fucking another earlier.”

How in seven hells could someone as quiet and honorable as Eddard Stark be friends with Robert Baratheon, let alone -- he shook his head. “This all sounds charming,” Rhaegar said sardonically, sticking his hands in his pockets. He found the hard and cold iron of the rose-shaped pendant there. He had washed and cleaned it when he had returned to his pavilion, as he had decided to forgo the chambers that had been assigned to him. He had taken great care to remove the mud that had caked and dried between the blue petals, had ran his thumb over the engraved words and sigils behind one of the petals over and over and had planned on giving it back to its owner before the tourney ended.

“Watching him behave like this makes me glad my lord father is not around any longer to deal with him,” Jon was saying. Rhaegar agreed with that. Lord Armond had been a prickly man, a trait that his son had inherited. He imagined the old lord of Griffin’s Roost would have been looking at his liege lord with as much scorn and disdain as his heir was. He turned around and faced him, his arms crossed over his chest. “Peach and lemon cream tarts, Rhaegar?”

“I enjoy peaches and I like the smell of lemons and _there is_ nothing better than cream, Jon. Is it a crime?”

Jon snorted. “You are so transparent, friend. You didn’t even touch your tart.”

Rhaegar shrugged at that. He had requested that one of the desserts be that. No one need know about it. “Have you been surveilling me? I thought my father and Varys were bad, but I expect it from them. My friends on the other hand,” he replied. “You would lose your appetite too if you had to put on a mummer’s show.”

“You have not had much of an appetite in near four turns, Your Grace.”

“Next thing you will be strapping me to my seat and forcing food down my throat. It’s just dessert. It’s nothing to get excited over.”

“Isn’t it?” Jon Connington asked ruefully.

“Enjoy the rest of your evening, my lord,” Rhaegar said before he headed up the dais once more and sat by his father.

He watched as men and women took to the dance floor. His eyes found Lyanna Stark once more and remained firmly there as she partnered with every northern lord and knight who asked her. She danced with the Greatjon and Domeric Bolton, someone from House Tallhart, one of the sons of Lord Wyman Manderly, a man from Bear Island, Lord Dustin and the heir to Deepwood Motte. He saw her with Jon Connington who had finally managed to crack a smile in her company. He saw Myles Mooton drop to one knee when he asked her to honor him with a dance and blushed furiously when she accepted. Myles was an excellent swordsman and would become even better as he got older, but women had him completely confounded. Rhaegar saw her dance with two of her brothers and old Lord Jon Arryn and his heir who had been all smiles when he put his hand to her back. She danced gracefully and she was full of smiles and conversation.

Then he came, the Storm Lord, like a dark cloud, clad in a golden doublet that was stained with wine. She shook her head, declining his request, but her eldest brother caught her arm and pulled her to her feet, and she stepped onto the dance floor. Lyanna Stark’s willowy form disappeared completely from view and when they turned, he could see how distressed she seemed to be. Robert Baratheon’s hand had slid a centimeter south of the small of a back and was groping at the silk. She pulled his hand up to the middle of her back.

Rhaegar began to push himself away from the table when he saw Arthur cross the length of the hall and tap Lady Lyanna’s shoulder gently. He smiled down at her. Whatever he said had Lord Robert scowling to no end. Lyanna Stark nodded and Robert Baratheon stepped back, bowed his head rather stiffly and walked away. When he was gone, her body seemed to sag with relief as Arthur guided her near the dais and they both chatted amiably as they danced.

Arthur was off duty this evening and had sat with the Dornish contingent, in the company of his sister and his eldest brother, the future Lord of Starfall, but Rhaegar knew Arthur had been watching, ever the soldier, ever the Kingsguard, for any sign of trouble. This night he traded his white cloak for the lilac one, bearing the sigil of his House, the white sword and falling star. It did not matter what colors he wore this night, though, Rhaegar knew. Arthur was as steadfast a man as there ever was.

Not far, the Princess Elia who must have left the dais at some point, was dancing with her brother, whose gaze, Rhaegar saw, kept going to the little northern girl and linger there. That irritated him as much as Robert Baratheon’s large groping paws had. Oberyn Martell was on the prowl, looking for someone to warm his bed tonight. Unsurprisingly. The man’s reputation preceded him. But he would be wasting his time if he thought --

Rhaegar buttoned his doublet back up, pushed his chair back and stood. Slowly he made his way down to the dance floor, stepped around couples and found himself in front of her. The grey of her eyes was flecked with sapphire blue and the flames from the torches and the hearths made them look like precious jewels.

 _Breathtaking_ , Rhaegar reflected once more.

“Would you honor me with this dance, my lady?” he asked, presenting his hand to her. She bit down on her lower lip and nodded. “My lord,” she whispered slipping her smaller hand into his and letting him lead her. Rhaegar felt heat rise to his cheeks as he bowed to her and put his hand to her waist.

Step after step, twirl after twirl, he lifted her up, both hands holding her by the waist and she was suddenly as tall as he was, staring right back into his eyes, both her hands resting on the nape of his neck. One of her fingers hooked in his hair. His arm snaked around her waist holding her flush against him. He moved the tip of his nose against the curve of her cheek, slowly, deliberately and their breaths mingled.

 _Let them talk_ , he thought before he brushed his lower lip against the corner of her mouth and kissed her there. It was a show of restraint. It was her lips he wanted to kiss.

“Lyanna,” he whispered near her ear before he pressed his forehead to hers. When he finally put her down, he hugged her closer to him, buried his nose in her hair and closed his eyes as they both stood there in the middle of the floor. She smelled sweet like wild jasmine and warm, like summer days gone by. Her hand was pressed against his heart, her thumb moving slowly, up and down up and down up and down.

This felt like . . .

“Rhaegar . . .” he heard his name called. “ _Rhaegar_!”

He felt a strong hand on his shoulder, a hand stronger than it had any right to be, and jumped up from his seat, his heart beating frantically. The serving girl who had been filling the goblets yelped in shock and dropped the wine decanter. It broke and wine splashed near him and Elia Martell who was back in her seat. The music stopped suddenly and he knew everyone present was watching. His father was on his feet at once shouting at the poor girl who looked dead from fear. “I want her whipped,” his father was screaming, “ _whipped_ ,” he screamed again, his tone verging on hysterical. “What is the  _matter with you_?” he lashed out at his son. Rhaegar stood stiff. He hoped he was able to project a picture of calm to everyone in the hall, the opposite of the panic he felt.

Down on the dance floor, Arthur was looking at him puzzled and Lyanna Stark was frowning. Arthur took her hand and kissed it before he stepped up to Rhaegar on the dais, taking a place by Ser Barristan Selmy.

Lord Whent was standing, trying to get the situation back under control and Oswell looked upset. Like as not, this poor woman was someone he had known his entire life, had grown up with within the walls of this castle.

“It was not her fault, Sire. I startled and frightened her,” he said, then turned to the serving girl. “I am sorry for that,” he squeezed her arm reassuringly. “None of this was your fault. Ser Oswell, see her back to her quarters, if you would.”

He turned to his father. “I apologize, Your Grace. This has been a long day for all of us,” he forced a smile.

“A long day. Aye.” Aerys purple eyes bore into him unconvinced.

Rhaegar swallowed thickly. “The girl was at no fault. I was listening to the song. I always try to imagine Lady Jenny and Prince Duncan whenever I hear the song.”

“ _Day dreaming_ ,” the king sneered at his son. “That woman  _ruined_ my uncle and her woods witch friend ruined my life,” Aerys grumbled. “A _commoner_ ,” he said with a tone filled with distaste and disdain. “He could have been king. But he had to visit his Blackwood kin and pass through Oldstones, instead of going through Pennytree,” he looked at his son. “Heed my words, Rhaegar, women are poison. Jenny, Joanna, my lady grandmother, my lady mother, your  _faithless_ mother, the women looking at you like they would fuck you in the middle of this hall in front of every man present here. _Poison_. Every last one of them.”

Rhaegar felt heat rush to his face. He was certain his ears were scarlet red from this . . . talk. _You are the one who is poison,_ he wanted to retort. But this was not Maegor’s Holdfast where Rhaegar could afford to make an even bigger scene.

Aerys grunted. “I think this evening has dragged on far too long. I believe I have honored everyone with my presence long enough. Listen to me, don’t listen to me, it’s nothing to me. Really. I was told by our gracious host that you entered the lists, that you mean to compete. I am expecting you to win, Rhaegar.”

Rhaegar nodded. “I will do my best, my lord. For the glory of House Targaryen.”

His father mercifully turned around and walked away from the table, down the dais. Everyone parted for him, bowing and curtseying. Ser Barristan and Ser Gerold trailed behind him, but not before giving their prince a sympathetic looks. These were men Rhaegar had known his whole life, he reflected. Would it take much to sway them to his side, he wondered. “My lord,” he addressed Lord Walter, “please keep the girl away for the remainder of the tourney. My father was amiable tonight, but there is no telling when his mood will shift.”

Lord Whent nodded and excused himself.

“Your Grace,” Elia Martell spoke to him as the musicians began playing again and Rhaegar looked at her for a beat. “You have seemed distracted. Is aught amiss?”

 _Were you not just standing here_ , he wanted to ask here. All of this had ensured he would stay up half the night, tossing and turning in his bed. He hoped riding would tire him out. “Arthur, I am sorry to impose on you, but would you please find my squire and tell him to have my horse saddled,” he asked before looking at Elia Martell. He wondered how much her mother had told her. “I am fine, my lady, but I am touched by your concern. Pray excuse me. Sers,” he looked at Jon Darry and Lewyn Martell, “you are dismissed for the rest of the night. Make sure you are at my father’s door before the break of dawn.”

He looked at Princess Elia again. “I do hope you have a restful night,” he said, stepping away from the dais for the last time this night. He did not miss the look of discomfit on the princess’ face nor the murderous look her brother had given him.

 _So be it_ , he thought. This Martell alliance should not have happened. He had warned his father, had warned the Princess of Dorne who had died and left this mess behind her. There was nothing Rhaegar hated more than being a pawn in someone’s game. And Rhaegar had been the prize Aerys had doled out to the Princess of Dorne to spite Tywin Lannister.

It was his mess too, though, and he meant to clean it up. His plans here may have been dashed, but it was not over. Far from it.

He walked out of the hall and into the cool air of the night. But she was there anyway, Lyanna Stark, wrapped in her white cloak, the collar trimmed with grey fur, the grey direwolf of her House stitched onto the side. She was sitting on a fence, Jon Connington beside her, pointing at something in the sky. When Rhaegar lifted his head to see, he rolled his eyes and smiled fondly. How could he not?

“She was very upset earlier,” Arthur whispered.

“I had noticed,” Rhaegar replied and Arthur looked at him knowingly and then, “It’s not hard to miss things when you have been staring at the same person the entire evening, friend,” he kept his voice lowered.

Rhaegar shrugged. “Robert Baratheon . . .” he started.

“. . . is a disrespectful oaf,” Arthur chimed in. “You know it, I know it and she knows it. She has always seen right through him.”

He shook his head, remembering the raven that had come to Dragonstone bearing news of the betrothal. _This is such a mess,_ he reflected once more. Elia Martell, Robert Baratheon, Aerys . . .

“Does Lord Rickard know, though?” Rhaegar asked him.

“What does it matter whether he knows or not?” Arthur asked. “You know as well as I do, this marriage will never take place.”

Rhaegar remembered how his father had been excited at the prospect of allying himself to House Stark when he brought up the topic of marriage to him. The blood of the First Men, Aerys had said, as pure as there is south of the Wall. An old name, an old and ancient family, loyal, he had reflected, they held the north since the Age of Heroes if not before, they had bent the knee rather than fight Aegon and his dragons. Lord Cregan had supported Rhaenyra’s claim. Lord Rickard was a man of splendid repute. His little daughter was a little beauty, though wild and willful, but nothing a marriage couldn’t help curb.

Lord Rickard’s little daughter was more than beautiful and Rhaegar had loved her wildness and willfulness and her honestly and the way she would smile up at him, like he was all that mattered.  She had always seen him, seen his heart, just as he had always seen _her_ heart. Beautiful and willful and frustrating and sweet Lyanna Stark who made his world stop.

But before the ravens had flown and negotiations began, Duskendale happened.  That one single event had thrown his life into turmoil. Nothing was the same after that, but Rhaegar had already set things into motion. He thought he could bring his father around to finally write the Lord of Winterfell and request that he come to King’s Landing to discuss marriage and dowry. Tywin Lannister had intervened in that, arguing that the north had nothing to offer but cold winds and snow. They were not a power at sea since Brandon the Burner had put their fleet to the torch, they were rich in wood and furs, but naught else.

Rhaegar’s bride should come with a dowry that could not be matched, Lord Tywin had argued. Rhaegar knew what he meant, of course. Even a simpleton could have caught the meaning of his words.

Aerys had of course listened to _that_ piece of counseling.  Anything Rhaegar had said after that had fallen on deaf ears. Nothing he said would sway him. Later, Aerys surrounded himself with people who exacerbated every single flaw he had and as time went on, following the events at Duskendale, he had become paranoid and things had spiraled. Shortly after his betrothal to Elia Martell was announced, Rhaegar had left for Dragonstone and his mother had gone with him. There he remained, returning to the Red Keep some four weeks before the tourney at Harrenhal was set to begin.

“I know you want to go to her,” Arthur said.

“I do, but not this evening.”

 _I loved a maid as white as winter, with moonglow in her hair,_ Rhaegar thought looking at Lyanna Stark one last time before he started toward the stables.

 _No_ , he corrected himself, I _love_ a maid as white as winter . . .

He found his horse saddled and waiting. “Midnight. Did you miss me?” he asked the horse patting its neck.

“She entered the horse race, you know, I saw her name on the list of competitors,” Arthur informed him and Rhaegar looked at him and felt his heart swell with pride. “Does that surprise you?”

“No, it does not,” Arthur said. “No more than any of us were surprised when we saw her swinging that tourney sword earlier.”

“You were right.”

“What about?”

“Letting her fight her own battles. She would have been more angry than relieved to see any of us come to her aid.”

“I know you want to protect her, but your little lady has never needed protecting.”

“No, she has never needed protecting. I think that’s what frightens me the most,” he explained. Lyanna was as capable as she was fearless. She was confident in her skills. And that made her reckless. “She will win tomorrow, you know,” he added confidently.

“And neither of us will be surprised if that were to happen,” Arthur replied.

“I have missed her.”

“I know,” Arthur told him as they both rode out of the castle gates.

Betroth he may be in the eyes of the realm, but Rhaegar Targaryen will never kneel in front of the Seven and bind his life to another anymore than Lyanna Stark would.


	4. Striking the Balance

When Howland Reed had left the Neck on his winter-long pilgrimage to seek the green men on the Isle of Faces, the furthest thing from his mind had been this detour at Harrenhal and what looked to be the grandest tourney ever thrown. He had not imagined he would be the guest of the only daughter of his liege lord and two of her brothers either.

Lady Lyanna Stark was unlike anything Howland had pictured. She was kind and gentle, quick to smile and quicker to laugh, as comfortable in breeches as she was in a dress, though he suspected she preferred the former. She was beautiful too, with her high cheekbones, long soft curling brown hair, large grey eyes flecked with blue and her single dimple.

Lyanna Stark was a young woman of surpassing loveliness.

For all her sweetness, however, she also seemed to have a temper when tested and a mind of her own, someone who very much marched to the beat of her own drum. She did not seem to care in the least about gossip or the way people looked at her. And today, she had given half the realm reasons to both gossip and gawk.

She had saved him, his lord’s daughter, Howland thought.

He had not realized how big a mistake it had been for him to walk the grounds of Harrenhal until he was set upon by three squires, thrown to the ground and kicked. Normally, he would have been able to protect and defend himself. He knew how to fight with his frog spear, with his net, barehanded if he had the need to. His lord father had seen to it. The crannogmen, he had told him, had need to learn how to protect themselves, even in the bogs and swamps of the Neck.

But Howland had been so distracted by the noise, the colors, the different and delicious aromas coming from the cookfires, that much to his shame, he had not seen the danger until it was already upon him. He had been quickly overwhelmed. He was outsized and outmatched. He thought the end of his life was nigh. And who would mourn or investigate the death of a crannogman who had ventured into the riverlands? People outside the Neck hardly cared for his kind. To them they were mudmen, bog devils, sneaks and cravens, even if all they ever did was defend themselves from outsiders who sought to harm them or conquer their moving castles.  

But Lyanna Stark had proved him wrong and her brothers had been kind to him, though Lord Brandon did not seem to care beyond the squires having had had their due punishment. But the Lady Lyanna had not thought so.

“If you had seen them wail on him, you would not believe for a moment they have been punished enough, Brother. They would have killed him or crippled him that it would have made no matter.”

“Ask for an audience with the prince, then, and tell him what happened. The crannogmen are his people too.”

“They were our people before they were ever his,” she had replied hotly. _“You_ will be the Lord of Winterfell and the Warden of the North someday, Brandon. You must protect those who have done our House fealty. It is not only the blood of the First Men that runs through our veins, it is also the blood of the crannogmen after the Neck was conquered. Same as his blood.”

“I know my histories as well as you do, Sister. But what would you have me do?”

She had shaken her head dismayed. “I can’t believe you even have to ask.” Brandon Stark had thrown his arms up in the air. “I miss you when you are gone, Lya, truly, I do, but you are the biggest pain in the arse I have ever known. You have given those squires a sharp lesson, one they will not soon forget. Let . . . the devils . . . _lie_. Do _not_ go seeking trouble where there is none any longer, Lyanna. Do you hear me?” He had walked out of the tent without waiting to hear her answer.

Lady Lyanna had washed Howland’s cuts and bound the ones she could. His jaw had been bruised and his lip broken, but there was nothing more she could do. Lyanna Stark had shown him more kindness than he had a right to. He could not have been more grateful to her. And then she had insisted he come to the feast. He did not think it a good idea. Howland Reed was an outsider here and his kind despised. This was not his place, nor was this his world. He did not belong. But she had told him otherwise. He too, was of high birth, and had as much right to be in the hall of hundred hearths as any of them. Though he had been hesitant, he could not refuse her. With her eyes shining with _so much_ determination and the sweet smile she had bestowed upon him, how could he say no to her? He suspected many people were unable to refuse her.

Once he returned to the Neck and Greywater Watch, he had promised himself he would tell his lord father how Lyanna Stark, the daughter of Winterfell had stood up for him, protected him, and made him feel like he was part of her pack. And if he were ever blessed with a daughter, he would want her to be just like his lady, wild and willful and kind. Kind above all. Lady Lyanna did not fit the mold, yet Howland Reed believed her more of a lady than any of the ones he had seen at Harrenhal. Anyone who did not see past her breeches and her ways was an utter fool.

Contrary to last night’s feast where she was garbed in samites and silks, today, she was dressed in grey breeches made from soft leather, tall black boots, and a bleached-white jerkin with a stiff collar, the direwolf of her House sewn upon the breast. Her tunic was the same grey as her breeches and her long brown hair had been hurriedly tucked into a knot, so much so that the shorter strands had escaped to frame her face where one of her cheeks was smeared with dirt. She swung an easy leg over her mare as she prepared to take part in the final race, the one that would crown the champion.

She had won all five waves she had taken part in to move on to the final race. Her competitors were taking their places as well. Beside her, the son of the Leech Lord, Domeric Bolton, was horsed, and they both chatted amiably. If the first several waves had not attracted many spectators, the final race was a whole different tale. The northmen were gathered together, two of their own had made it in the finals and whatever happened by the end of this race, Lady Lyanna and the heir to the Dreadfort had already made the north proud, no doubt.

Robert Baratheon was there too, standing next to Lord Eddard and Ser Richard Lonmouth, holding what must have been his sixth or seventh skin of wine. He had watched every single race and gotten louder and rowdier as the hours trickled by.

Howland saw men converge toward the race track, but it was the Prince of Dragonstone, Rhaegar Targaryen, flanked by two of his Kingsguard and companions who had attracted his notice. When the races had begun earlier in the day, the prince had watched from atop the battlements, sitting there, one leg drawn up languidly to his chin as he observed the action below, dividing his attention between the races and a thick book.

For the final round, he seemed to have decided the view would be better from the ground and made his way to the fence that separated the track from the spectators and stood near to the northern contingent.

Howland Reed had noticed things last night at the opening feast. He had seen that ruffian, Robert Baratheon, the Lord Paramount of the stormlands, competing in a drinking game with Ser Richard Lonmouth who had been his constant shadow, but was now detaching from the group to stand with Prince Rhaegar.

Hard as he tried, the little crannogman did not understand this betrothal between the storm lord and the Lady Lyanna, that her father would accept the offer of marriage seemed a ridiculous notion to Howland. If Lord Rickard had seen the dance from last night, he may have reconsidered this notion altogether. The dance had been cringeworthy. Lord Robert was well into his cups, and Lady Lyanna had been lost in those arms, small as she was. The lord’s hands had wandered and Howland Reed could not have been more relieved to see Ser Arthur Dayne come to her rescue.

And that had been queer enough, Howland had judged. And queerer still was the way the prince’s eyes had seldom strayed from the Lady Lyanna, a woman who was promised to his cousin. He had paid his mad father no mind, and the gracious and sweet looking Princess Elia who had been seated beside him did not even seem to penetrate whatever bubble the prince had been ensconced in. He had scarce looked at the princess or spoken to her, had declined to dance, preferring to remain seated or speak to his friend Lord Jon Connington. Howland thought that was ill done on the prince’s part.

It was said on the Isle of Faces that the prince had not desired this betrothal with the Dornish princess. Howland Reed thought that it must have been true. Prince Rhaegar’s attention had been wholly focused on Lyanna Stark.

Just as it was now as she raced her horse against men taller, stronger and older than she was.

And she was not letting up. The Lady Lyanna seemed to be a fierce competitor and nothing but deep concentration showed on her face. The white mare looked to be an extension of her mistress.

“She looks like a weirdwood,” Howland had said to her in the morning after he had glimpsed the horse for the first time. A white coat and eyes that were the dark red of garnets. They looked black in the light.

Beside him, Lyanna Stark had smiled brightly. “She was a gift,” she had explained to him. “When the person who gifted her to me saw the bone-white color of her coat and the color of her eyes, they said she belonged to the old gods, that I should have her.”

“Truly?”

“Aye. Truly. Her brother,” she pointed at a beautiful destrier, his coat so black it looked looked the deep dark blue of the night, “is dark as night and she’s just white as snow.”

 _Duality_ , he thought then. A white horse for a dark-haired girl . . .

“What’s his name?”

“His name is Midnight. I was told not to name him, but I could not help myself.”

“Who does he belong to?” Howland had asked.

She had turned quiet then, her gaze growing distant. She had picked up a brush and ran it slowly down her mare’s coat. “I was told that the night she was born, there was a white shooting star streaking across the sky,” she finally spoke. “I took it as a sign.”

Watching her race, Howland thought that Comet was more than an appropriate name for the beautiful mare.

He chanced a look at the prince who was chewing on a piece of burnt bacon. His garb was so simple that Rhaegar Targaryen could have been mistaken for someone else had it not been for his silver-blond hair that was pulled back from his face and bound into a knot. He wore black woolen breeches tucked into a pair of well-loved boots of the same color, an old grey tunic, and a faded black leather jerkin that he had not bothered lacing all the way up. A longsword and a dagger hung from his very simple leather belt. Bunched over his shoulder was a threadbare brown traveler’s cloak.

Howland had heard of the prince’s black armor, with his House sigil wrought in rubies, had seen the rich clothes he had worn during the feast. Simply dressed, the prince looked like anyone chanced upon on the road. Howland assumed the prince would be going to the practice yard after the race.

Feeling Howland’s gaze, Prince Rhaegar turned his head and looked back at him, confused at first, then something akin of recognition lit his face up. His lips tugged into half a smile and he inclined his head. He then turned his attentions back to the race track. He stood on the lower level of the barrier, his fingers clutching the post, watching the riders rein up at the start line. By his side Howland saw Ser Arthur Dayne and he recognized Ser Oswell Whent by his auburn hair. He spied Lord Jon Connington leaning forward and Ser Myles Mooton standing beside him, worrying his lower lip between his teeth. They all seemed filled with nervous energy.

Howland Reed had noticed more during the feast. He had noticed the ease with which his lord’s daughter had danced with Ser Myles, Ser Arthur, Lord Jon. Ser Myles had blushed furiously when he took  a knee before her to ask her for the honor of a dance, Ser Arthur had smiled at her as though she had been an old friend, and Lord Jon had rolled his eyes at her with fondness.

And while Lyanna Stark partnered with those near and dear to the prince, her own eyes kept going back to him.

And just like the previous night, Prince Rhaegar’s eyes were sunk into Lady Lyanna. Nothing in the world seemed to matter but her. The prince had seemed an apathetic man to Howland. But it looked to be a different story when it came to the lady. His eyes looked alive whenever he found her, all trace of melancholy and disinterest vanished from his gaze.

While at the Isle of Faces, Howland had learned things, prophecies that the prince was at the center of. He had a role to play in the wars to come, that much had been clear to him. _Was he the prophecy, though?_ Howland had wondered.

 _“Prophecies are tricky as you well know,”_ he was told. _“There is duality in in the world. We tend to forget.”_

_Day and night, black and white, war and peace, summer and winter, ice and fire . . ._

Rhaegar Targaryen was a scion of Old Valyria, the son of the dragon. Everyone knew the story of the Silver Prince’s birth. Queen Rhaella had given birth to him in the middle of a palace that was being consumed by wildfire. The prince had been born in fire.

A true dragon if there ever was one.

Howland turned his attentions back to the little lady atop her horse. She leaned forward in her saddle and urged her horse to go faster. The velvet ribbon she had used to tie her hair up had at long last given up its hold and her long brown locks had come tumbling down to become swept up by the wind. The cheers were deafening and a slim hemp cord was held across the field as the riders entered the last stretch of the race. Domeric Bolton won by barely a breath, followed by her, the Lady Lyanna.

The northmen’s reaction had been as expected. They howled and cheered. Lyanna Stark reined up, threw her head back and laughed with delight and abandon.

Eddard Stark vaulted over the fence, followed by his two brothers and embraced his sister as she dismounted. He looked on warily as Lord Brandon approached her. Those two had not been on the best of terms, but they smiled at each other as they hugged. Whatever issues between the young lord and his sister seemed to be forgotten for now, at least.

Lord Robert embraced her too, but that was short-lived and awkward.

Domeric Bolton had taken Lady Lyanna’s hand and kissed her knuckles. Though he would be the one taking the victor’s purse, this win seemed to be more hers than his and she pulled him in her arms. Roose Bolton managed to crack something resembling a smile from where he stood. Howland Reed was certain the stories about the Dreadfort were true when he looked at its lord.

The Greatjon picked up Lady Lyanna as though she weighed less than a feather and carried her on his shoulder for everyone to see. Domeric Bolton was hoisted up as well. “This is how we do in the north!” the Lord of Last Hearth bellowed. Lord Eddard had told him that the Greatjon had asked for his sister's hand in marriage but that their lord father had declined.

She was all smiles and laughter their beautiful lady. Howland saw the moment her grey eyes caught the eyes of Prince Rhaegar and how her demeanor changed into something so soft, Howland felt he was intruding on something intimate, that it had not been meant for his eyes. But he could not help his curiosity. He saw the prince wink at her and return her smile.

There was fierce pride in those Valyrian eyes.

This was not some passing fancy, Howland Reed knew, looking discretely from one to the other.

Then Comet made her way to the fence and to Rhaegar Targaryen nuzzling his neck. That horse was too clever by half, Howland mused, watching the prince pat her on the neck as he spoke to her gently.

It had not been difficult to figure out who had gifted Lady Lyanna her mare and who Midnight had belonged to after that. A white horse for the dark-haired girl and a horse dark as the starry skies for the Silver Prince.

Howland thought of the dualities in the world. Day and night, black and white, war and peace, ice and fire. _Every song must have a balance and every song has its balance,_ the greenseers had once said. This was it, wasn’t it? The balance.

Long ago, Howland's lord father had told him the story of a boy who had been born in the middle of a burning castle, surrounded with death as he drew his first breath.

His lord father had also told him the story of a girl who had been born in the middle of the worst winter storm in recent memory; outside and vulnerable to the elements as her mother labored alone to bring her forth into the world.

The boy and the girl had not been expected to survive. But they did, his lord father would smile at that every time. Howland Reed had always thought it was because his father had a soft spot for stories that ended well, but he was no longer sure of that.

 _“Things that are meant to happen, happen, whether we will them to or not. They just happen in their own time,”_ one of the green men had said to him.

 _There is duality in the world,_ he had been told.  _Day and night, black and white, summer and winter, ice and fire . . . Every song must have its balance and every song has its balance._ And as he watched Prince Rhaegar’s gaze linger on the Lady Lyanna before he sent Comet on her way back to her mistress, Howland could not help but wonder if at last balance had been struck.


	5. The Knight of the Laughing Tree

It was a warm day, Rhaegar ran the back of his hand over his forehead as he sat inside his pavilion with a book on the lore, magics and prophecies of the north written by some long dead maester.

The jousting had begun the previous day, and he would enter the competition on the third day with the more seasoned knights. But in case someone decided to challenge him, Rhaegar would be in his pavilion to accept the challenge. He would don his armor and compete. Mostly, though, he was hauled up in his pavilion because he needed to be far away from his father after the farce he had made of Jaime Lannister’s induction into the Kingsguard.

 _That should not have happened_ , Rhaegar reflected again, but Aerys had made up his mind a while back and there had been no reasoning with him after that. He shook his head and rubbed his eyes before he turned his attention back to his book.

 _“The prophecies in the north are difficult to put to parchment as they have been passed down orally for more than eight thousand years. It is difficult to separate stories from prophecies . . .”_ he read. This was as ridiculous as it was frustrating. He already knew all of this already. He flipped a page and then another and scanned them quickly. He knew this about the Last Hero too, and the skinchangers . . . _Surely northern houses must have books that had not been fed to the flames by Baelor the Blessed_ , he reflected, closing the book he had been reading and picking up another.

As the shadows grew long, the flap of his pavilion was pushed open and Ser Oswell peaked his head in. “Mystery knight,” he announced with excitement and Rhaegar frowned at that. The last mystery knight to enter a tourney had been Simon Toyne, the leader of the Kingswood Brotherhood who had come to write an end to his life. He had challenged Rhaegar, lost the tilt and mayhem had ensued after everyone realized whose face had been concealed under that helm.

Rhaegar closed the book and stood. He picked up his doublet and slipped it on as he stepped outside. His pavilion stood next to that of the Kingsguard. Ser Arthur and Ser Gerold Hightower were there, leaning on the fence, watching. Arthur’s lady mother was a Hightower of Oldtown and Ser Gerold’s niece. There was Dayne blood in every Hightower and Hightower blood in every Dayne, Ser Gerold was fond of saying.

“Your Grace,” the older man nodded at him and Rhaegar smiled. Ser Gerold Hightower had been part of Rhaegar’s life since he had been a babe at the breast. He had been like a doting grandfather and Rhaegar had been his squire for four years before he had won his golden spurs.

“And who has this mystery knight challenged?” he asked.

“A knight from House Blount,” Ser Gerold replied. “Pray pardon me, Your Grace. I have to take my place by your royal sire.”

“Of course, Ser. Do what you must.”

Rhaegar looked at the stands. They were full of smallfolk and highborn alike, cheering and smiling. Then his eyes landed on his father who looked more like a wizened wizard than a king. He frowned at that. Aerys was seven-and-thirty and Rhaegar found the thought jarring. Seven-and-thirty was still young enough but the madness had taken a significant toll on his father. He noticed that his attention was focused wholly on the mystery knight who had ridden away to the end of the lists after dipping his lance to him. Rhaegar did not think it boded well. “Whoever this is,” he said, “this was a terrible idea. My paranoid father will not like this,” he muttered under his breath.

“I think it’s a terrible idea regardless of what the king may think,” Oswell replied. The mystery knight was short of stature, and clad in ill-fitting armor made up of bits and pieces. But it was the device on his shield that caught Rhaegar’s attention and he said nothing as he studied it.

“Uncle thinks he has a chance. He saw him riding into the field,” Arthur whispered.

“Let’s hope so, jousting is mostly horsemanship. If not, this poor lad will be carried from the field on a stretcher,” Oswell commented.

“Is that a weirwood with a laughing face on his shield?” Rhaegar finally asked. The device upon the the shield was the heart tree of the old gods, a white weirwood with a laughing red face. He felt a queer chill run up and down his spine. This felt like some jape so close to the Isle of Faces. Unwittingly his eyes scanned the stands once more, looking for the members of House Stark this time. _Not there_ , he realized. She was not in the stands though the crannogman and two of her brothers were.

 _Don’t be stupid, Rhaegar_ , the rational voice in his head told him. She could be _anywhere_. Lyanna Stark had never been one to sit for hours on end, unless she was sitting a horse. And Robert Baratheon was there with Lord Eddard and the other northmen. Perhaps she decided to avoid him by not showing, he reasoned. It _was_ nearing sundown and she always liked taking Comet out around this time.

 _Or perhaps she was in the stands with everyone and she left to don a mismatched armor and take up a shield with a laughing tree painted on it,_ the irrational part replied. _Maybe she decided to take the field_.

Ser Gerold had been right in his assessment of the rider. He was very good on a horse. He broke five lances against the knight of House Blount before he unhorsed him. The crowd cheered lustily as the mystery knight took a victory lap. But it did not look as though he was done. He rode past the prince’s pavilion and tapped the shield from House Haigh and Rhaegar’s breath hitched.

 _Oh, no no no,_ he felt panic rise in him when he saw the mystery knight dismount to water his horse while Ser Leslyn Haigh donned his armor. Of course his thoughts _weren’t_ irrational. _It was irrational to think that Lyanna Stark would be off in the fields, riding her horse, or avoiding that great oaf_ , he scoffed at himself. Because why _wouldn’t she_ put on an armor and enter the lists?

 _She will appear in the stands at any moment and sit with her brothers,_ he rationalized.

 _You are an utter fool if you believe that_ , the other part of himself that sounded an awful a lot like her replied, laughing mockingly. Rhaegar felt cold sweat trickle down his back, chilling him to the bone.

“I do not mean to alarm you, my prince,” Arthur’s whispered next to him and Rhaegar thought he might become sick the way his stomach roiled.

“Trust me when I say that nothing could alarm me more than the thoughts I am having this second, Arthur. If the mystery knight wins this tilt,” he said, “the next knight he will challenge is one from House Frey.”

“I saw her leave the stands in some haste after Haigh and Frey won their matches with her younger brother. But he has been back a while,” Arthur said, “I _never_ thought --”

Lyanna, because of course it _had to be_ her, may make quick work of Ser Leslyn, but whichever Ser Frey she was going to challenge would not be an easy task. The Freys were underhanded, and in his mind’s eye, he could see her unhorsed and tumbling to the ground, unmoving and broken.

He could not bear the thought and his mind rebelled against it. Lyanna knew her way around a horse. She was a very skilled rider, better than most. He had seen her ride at the quintain and tilt at rings more times than he could count. Lyanna was good at anything she set her mind to, but this was so different from riding against a bag of sand or . . .

 _This is how I learned how to joust, though_ , he reminded himself. Riding at rings or at the quintain was how everyone learned the sport and Lyanna had learned same as he did. She was already an accomplished horsewoman by the time she had come south and Rhaegar and Arthur had both shown her how to couch a lance and balance. Rhaegar himself had learned from Ser Barristan who was still the best jouster in the realm even at his advanced age.

He did not think she had entered the lists to prove something. Judging by the way the crannogman was sitting, with his hands clasped together, Lyanna had to have entered for his sake. It had to be that, Rhaegar concluded. His suspicions would be confirmed if she challenged a Frey next.

 _You could have come to me_ , his mind accused her. _No_. _You should have come to me and I would have put on my armor and done your bidding. There is nothing in the world I would not do for you._

He wanted to shake her.

His heart pounded violently. “If she is unhorsed,” Rhaegar spoke in a low voice, “she could be hurt, or worse.” He did not like his father’s look anymore than the idea of her being tossed from her horse like some rag doll. What would Aerys do if he found out this mystery knight’s identity? He did not want to think on it. And it was not as though Rhaegar could rush the field and stop the tilt and force her down from her horse. He would only endanger her further if he did that.

By the end of the second challenge, if Rhaegar had had any doubts at all as to the identity of this mystery knight, they were very much vanished. He knew how Lyanna Stark sat a horse, he knew how she held a lance, and he had seen her in breeches so often he knew what the soft curves of her body looked like hugged in them. He knew her walk and recognized the alluring sway of her hips. The sun was beginning to set when she challenged Ser Hosteen Frey. Rhaegar liked that even less.  

“She can do this,” Arthur said reassuringly and Oswell nodded his head vigorously.  

“It’s not her I don’t have faith in. It’s the men she has chosen to compete against. Hosteen Frey is a weasel and as big a brute as Robert Baratheon. He saw his niece’s husband fall to her. Do you think he will joust honorably or do you think he will try to injure her?”

It did not take long for him to get his answer. Injure her it was. But Lyanna held strong to her horse when the lance caught her shoulder and she twisted so violently, Rhaegar thought this was the end. She held strong when the lance came at her throat and she somehow, by some miracle managed to dodge it. On the sixth pass, a lance caught her under the plate and broke there. In the end, though, she went on at full speed and unhorsed the chinless craven, and Rhaegar was able to breathe again.

Mostly, he wanted to fall to his knees from relief, but breathing was good too.

If she was hurting and Rhaegar was certain she was, she did not let on. She took one final victory lap much to the crowd’s delight before she swung down from the still moving horse and stood by a pavilion, waiting for her defeated foes to ransom their mounts and armors. But she took nothing, Myles Mooton had reported back to him, watching her hidden between two tents. She asked that the knights teach their squires honor before she swung back on her horse and rode off. _This lad has a much deeper voice than I expected_ , Myles had said to him.

“Where are you going?” Ser Oswell asked him.

“To find her. And when I do I am going to _throttle_ her.”

Oswell snorted at that. “No, you won’t.”

 _No, I won’t_. The ball of nerves in his stomach was beginning to dissipate. Albeit too slowly for his taste.

“You don’t know where she went,” Arthur spoke.

“I know _exactly_ where she went.” Lyanna would seek the godswood to get rid of the evidence and pray to her gods. No one would be there, he knew as much. There was no reason for the northmen to seek the godswood during the tourney.

He was handed his cloak. He flipped it around to hide his House sigil before he donned it. He then pulled the hood over his head to hide his silver hair. The moon had begun to rise in the sky, silver, so full, so large, he thought he could reach out and touch it. It reminded him of the night he met her.

The longer he walked to the godswood, the more his anger and fears abated. Lyanna was nothing if not a child of the north and a daughter of Winterfell and her lord father had taught his children the ways of the First Men. _The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword_. And this was a sentence of sorts, wasn’t it? She had looked into the eyes of those squires and judged them guilty. Even after she had chastised them, they remained guilty in her eyes. Rhaegar could not blame her for these feelings.

Knights were responsible for their squires behavior. When Rhaegar took squires into his service, he always took the time to explain to them that their behavior was reflected upon him. That meant that he would be held accountable for whatever mischief they caused. All Lyanna had done was hold the three knights she challenged accountable for what their squires had done.

Lord Rickard, he knew, did not use a headsman. He executed the condemned himself. Lyanna had no need for someone to wear an armor and enter the lists in her stead either.

She had done her duty by a bannerman twice over. She had saved him, protected him and avenged his honor.

The Neck became part of the north after a King Rickard Stark had annexed it, killed the last Marsh King and took his daughter to bride. It had been done through conquest, but Rhaegar believed Lyanna had bought the loyalty of the crannogmen for another thousand years with her actions. What she did went further than honor, he thought.

And then he found her and he stood between the sentinel trees, in the shadows. He watched her as she slung the offending shield across her back and vaulted herself up to the nearest branch, using her feet and arms to pull herself up. Where she found the strength to do that after the blow she had taken, he did not know.

She straddled the branch, unslung the shield and hung it up above her. She then jumped down and landed on the soft ground, barely making a noise. It made him smile. She picked up a bag and Rhaegar heard it clink. He thought it might be the bits and pieces of the armor she had worn. He watched her look around and pick up rocks. She put them in the bag, tied it, then dragged it to the stream and watched it sink to the bottom.

That done, she went to the bushes and pulled another bag. That one made no noise. Slowly, she reached down the hem of her tunic and pulled it over her head. Rhaegar shoved his hands in his pockets, leaned against the tree and gazed at her longingly.

She toed off her boots and unlaced her breeches before pulling them down along with her smallclothes. She rubbed her arms for warmth and then reached under her shift and unbound her breasts. Lyanna found them bothersome and awkward whenever she was riding her horse, or loosing arrows and missing her target or battering something with her sword or doing most anything, really. Rhaegar inhaled a deep breath before he released it, slowly, worrying his lower lip between his teeth. He felt his throat go dry and his face flush with heat. What he wanted to do was discard every single piece of garment he wore, wrap her legs around his hips and --

She sat in the grass and slipped into the stream. Her shift came off and she kicked away from the edge of the pool. The moon floated on the still black waters, shattering and reforming as the ripples washed over her. She stopped and he watched her scrub her skin with soap, washing away the grime, sweat and dirt from earlier. She then emerged from the stream, naked, water dripping from her body. She picked up her towel and wrapped herself in it, then she uncoiled her hair and her hand searched for her brush. She began running it slowly in her long strands.

He cleared his throat then, and slowly came out from the shadows. She did not even turn her head to look, but said, “I was wondering when you would come out.” She finished brushing her hair as he sat behind her in the grass, pulled her between his legs and wrapped her in his arms, the sides of his cloak closing in on both of them.

“I did not see you yesterday,” he said.

“I was busy painting my shield. I feel sorry I have to leave it behind.” Rhaegar remembered how impressed he had been by her skills with charcoal. Lyanna had made an impression on him from the first.

“How long have you known I was standing there?” he asked her.

“When I climbed down from the tree. You were never very good at hiding.”

“When you jumped down from the tree,” he corrected her. “And I was not trying to hide from you.”

“Do you always sneak up on defenseless ladies?”

“Just the one. And you are the furthest thing from defenseless.” He slid an arm around her belly and kissed the crown of her head.

She turned her head then and looked at him. Raising her hand, she pushed the hood of his cloak a couple of inches off his head so that she may see his face better. “You are angry with me,” she stated, her eyes searching his, her fingers trailing lightly from his ear down to his chin.

Rhaegar grasped her hand in his and shook his head at her. “I _was_ angry,” he told her kissing the tip of her fingers, “but no longer.” He let go of the cloak and his eyes flitted from her face to her shoulder where a nasty bruise was blooming. How many other ones did she have across her chest and belly where lances had struck her? Slowly, he lifted the edge of the towel and looked where Hosteen Frey’s lance had taken her under the plate. It left a red angry mark that looked like a bloodless slash. It would leave her with a scar. “You could have been very seriously injured,” he pressed his lips to the bruise on her shoulder. She closed her eyes, burrowed into his body and sighed.

“You don’t understand.”

“I hate that you would think that,” he replied, turning her head toward him, feeling a little hurt by her words. “How long have I known you, Lya? You think I don’t listen when you speak? When have I ever ignored you or your words?”

She shook her head and stood, picking up her bag and making for the cover of the trees. “Never. And I love you for it.”

“I saw you running those squires off. I thought it was you when I saw the shield, I knew it was you when I saw you challenge the knight from House Haigh. You could have easily come to me or Arthur or Oswell if you had chosen to, but I understand your northern sense of justice,” he said following her. “I was not angry that you decided to dispense some justice to the knights you challenged. I was angry that you did not seem to think through the consequences of your _own_ actions if you had been unhorsed, Lyanna. If you had been unhorsed, your identity would have been revealed, and what then?”

“I saw Blount compete late yesterday and the other two in the morning, I knew I could beat them. I saw the way they held their lances, sat their horses,” she averted her eyes and began pulling pieces of clothing, a corset, smallclothes and laying them on a low hanging branch.

“Gods be good, Lyanna,” he felt his ire rise. “Look at me, please.”

She did. “What you did for your friend is beyond words, Lya. It is more than some who have taken their knightly vows will ever do for someone they never laid eyes upon. It is more than _your brother_ , the _heir_ to Winterfell did for him. Forgive me, but I am a selfish man, Lyanna, so I think of what _I_ stand to lose if something ill befell you.

“I will never stop you from doing what you feel you must do. But please, all I ask is that you do not give into these impulses while Aerys still calls himself king of these Seven Kingdoms.”

She scowled at him. “With our luck, your father will outlive us both.”

Rhaegar shook his head. “Lyanna,” he whispered her name dismayed. He did not need to ask her what she was thinking because he had been thinking the same sitting on the dais during the feast.

“I did not mean to worry you.”

“I will _always_ worry about you especially when you put yourself in harm's way intentionally. Who else knows about this?”

“Howland Reed and Ben. I told them to stay away and that I would see them in the hall.”

“Arthur and Oswell both guessed,” he told her. “But no one else will find out unless you want them to.”

She rummaged through her bag and found her dress. “Help me out?” she asked him when she was done adjusting the front of her corset.

He helped her pull her dress down over her head and then down her back. It was a flowing dress of black Myrish lace, lined with black satin, the top of it slashed with red samite in front almost to her belly. The points of the long dagged sleeves almost touched the ground when she lowered her arms. _The dragon’s colors_ , he thought, _my colors_.  She fastened a necklace of jet-and-gold around her neck that brushed the top of her breasts then pulled her hair to the side and ran quick fingers through it. “Ready?” he asked her. She nodded and held her breath when he began lacing her dress down.

He thought of yellow silks and gowns of golden leaves and featherbeds and forest lasses and forest loves and a girl who did not need protecting. That was not the song he thought he would be making after his visit at Summerhall some years past. Her sarcastic retort still made him smile. “You do have an affinity with trees,” he said.

Lyanna chuckled. “It would seems that I do. I saw you smile when you heard the song.”

“How can I not? It is your song. I made it just for you.”

“It was the only time you smiled.”

“It was a difficult night,” he said.

“I know.”

“How do you feel? Is it too tight?”

She shook her head. “It’s not the first time you lace me into a gown.” Her voice was a soft murmur and she looked at him over her shoulder. His arm snaked around her waist and pulled her gently against him, her back flush against his chest. She tilted her head up just as he bent his and he kissed her. Her lips were soft and her mouth was warm and he wished they were somewhere else. Her hand rose and he felt it rest at the nape of his neck and she deepened the kiss, her tongue meeting his halfway. His fingers tightened around her waist, fisting the fabric of her dress. When she moaned, he felt the sound vibrate through him and his mind filled with images of her skin glowing under the full moon, her naked body cutting through the still waters, the last night they spent together, skin against skin and mingled breaths, and her stepping onto the ship that took her from him and how lost he felt with her gone. That last feeling was one he did not wish to revisit.

She broke away from him and turned around to face him. “I lost my necklace.”

He stared at her for a moment confused, feeling dazed by the kiss. “Necklace?”

“The blue rose. I lost it after I helped Lord Howland. It must have come off when I fought those squires. I searched for it. You gave it to me and it is lost. I had not realize it was gone until much later. That’s why I was late arriving in the hall.” She looked near tears and he remembered how her hand had flown to her chest, out of habit, the night he had sung in the hall. When he sang, it was her he thought of.

“Oh, I have it,” he replied, putting a hand in his pocket and pulling it out. It was iron because his fair lady, his Lyanna, had a will of iron, worked in the shape of a rose because she loved winter roses best. Rhaegar had master Tobho Mott work the blue color into the metal with mother-of-pearl and crushed diamond to mimic frost. The result was beautiful. That was more than two years ago, he recalled. “I had Lord Whent’s smith fix the clasp, but I think we will have to look for a new chain,” he held it in front of her. She smiled at him then and he lifted her off her feet and kissed her again.

“What if someone walks in on us?” she whispered against his lips.

“No one comes around here, not even your northmen. Besides, everyone is at their cookfires, or in the hall sampling Lord Whent’s venison,” he whispered back, pressing his lips to hers one last time before he put her down. They had to make haste before Aerys decided to send the Kingsguard to find him. He took her hand kissed the palm. “You steal my breath away.”

“Is that your way of telling me you love me, my lord,” she teased.

“No. I am usually quite good at telling you how I feel. But I do love you and you do look beautiful and I wish we were anywhere in the world but here.” This was not their watchtower at the mouth of the Prince’s Pass, that Rhaegar had dubbed the Tower of Joy, nor was it the quiet of Dragonstone.

“We could let the world fall away,” she said.

“Nothing has ever sounded more tempting.”

Lyanna smiled at him as she slid her feet into her cloth-of-silver slippers. “Where did you find it?”

“Where you confronted those three squires. I was waiting to return it to you.”

She pulled her silk white cloak over her shoulders and he helped her fasten it with her wolf’s-head brooch of silver and polished jet.

“It is my cloak you should be wearing,” he complained as she pushed down the hood of his cloak and undid the tie. He flipped it around so that his sigil was now visible for the world to see.

“Who said I am not wearing your cloak?” she asked him, showing him the satin black lining. “Your mother made it for me. She sent it to me while I was still in the north.” She rose to the tip of her toes and whispered in his ear, “Under the direwolf of Stark, is your three-headed dragon, my love.”

“Truly?”

“Have I ever lied to you?” she asked him, indignant.

He snorted. “Now is that is a question with many answers. The first time we . . .”

“I seem to recall _you_ lying to me too, my heart,” she interrupted him.

He rolled his eyes at her and shrugged. “I received a raven while I was still on Dragonstone about your betrothal.”

Her smile vanished and her face crumbled. “I near told my lord father everything. This is becoming harder, Rhaegar. He must know and my brothers as well. Brandon said he was my lord while I was here and all I wanted to say to him was that my lord was here, and it was not him.”

He ran his thumb over her hand slowly. “I know. I should have done things differently. I had no idea things would get out of hand like this with Aerys.”

“I know you have Richard keeping Lord Robert busy.”

“Did someone tell you that?”

“No, but I know you. The Lady Elia . . .”

Rhaegar frowned at that. “Will be told in due course.”

“She is kind and sweet, Rhaegar, and she is here now. Perhaps --”

He had been thinking of telling her, but he had wanted to speak to Lyanna first. This was her decision as much as it was his. “I don’t know that she can be trusted with the whole truth, but I will speak to her.”

Lyanna nodded. “We should not arrive in the hall together.” She slipped her hand under his tunic and traced patterns on his skin. He closed his eyes and sighed. “If you don’t stop that, something unseemly might happen in these woods. Watching you bathe was more than I could handle for one night.”

"I half expected you to join me. I thought the dragon might stir and wake.” She dragged her lower lip slowly, up the column of his throat to his chin and his lips . . . then planted a loud wet kiss on the top of his nose taking him out of the moment. “ _You_ are a bloody tease.”

“Well, if I don’t stop, something unseemly might happen in these woods,” she threw back at him, trying to mimic the iron tones of his voice.

“You ought to stop calling it the dragon. It’s weird.”

She gave him the most innocent look she possessed. “I was referring to you, sweetling, not your cock.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “Of course you were! I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“I don’t know what you were thinking either.” She fixed the collar of his doublet for him then ran her fingers over the sigil of his House.

“I am wearing your colors tonight,” she noted.

“Yes, you are and these colors become you, my lady. There never was a lovelier sight,” he told her.

“Oh, hush! You already have me.”

He rolled his eyes at her. “Learn to take a compliment, Lya. I think we shall walk into the hall together. I have ointment you can put on your bruises. I will send it to your tent later. How do you feel?”

“Exhausted, mostly. Like I could sleep a fortnight. I did not realize I would be hurting this much. I doubt I will be able to lift my arms on the morrow.”

They walked silently, but then he stopped and turned her toward him. She tilted her head up and gazed at him. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong, but I would remiss if I did not tell you something,” he explained. 

“And what’s that?” she asked him softly.

“I know what I said earlier about being angry with you, but I must tell you something else. You are the bravest person I know and I cannot put into words just how _proud_ you make me, my darling. You make me proud to know you. You make me proud to love you. You make me proud to call you my wife. You, my love, are a force of nature.” He felt himself overcome with emotion as he looked down at her and wondered how someone such as her had come into his life, what he did to deserve her love. “Never doubt how proud of you I am,” he said. She stepped up to him and her arms circled his waist and held him tightly. He nuzzled her hair and filled his nose with her scent, sweet like wild jasmines and warm like a summer day. “I just love you. With all that I have, I love you. You make my heart feel so full, Lya.”

“I love you, too.” Her voice was shaking and her eyes glistening when she looked up at him. “And you make me proud to know you and proud to love you. You make me proud to call you my husband and I will be proud to call you my king. You are worth _everything_ , Rhaegar. And all of this? Well, I would do all a thousand times over.” She pulled away from the embrace and cupped his cheek. “The realm loves you, and if the people knew you half as well as I do, well I have no doubt they would love you as much. We will get it right, you’ll see.”

“When you say it, I believe it.”

“You make me happy in a way I did not know existed,” she said. “You set my heart to racing in a way I can never put into words.” She took his hand in hers and pressed it between her breasts, right where her heart beat. "This fast," she said. "Always this fast."

“I never thought Dragonstone dreary until you were gone,” he brushed her hair back with his fingers, tucking a one of her unruly curls behind her ear. “Will you honor me with a dance tonight, wife?”

“There is _nothing_ I would love more, husband.” Lyanna smiled at him so sweetly, Rhaegar thought his heart might stop.

“How did I get so lucky?” he asked her.

“I think it was when you decided to steal me,” she giggled.

He shook his head and smiled down at her. After a few years of knowing her and more than a year being married to her, why would she change her answer now. His fair lady was nothing if not consistent. “I could not steal you if I tried, wildling girl.”

“We of the free folk beg to differ.”

“Two hearts that beat as one then,” he jested.

“And _here_ I took you for a poet,” she replied mockingly as they came on the Hall of Hundred Hearths. Ser Oswell came out of the shadows and eyed them appreciatively before he opened the large door of to the hall. Rhaegar Targaryen gave Lyanna Stark his arm and she took it without hesitation. For a moment, he could pretend that all was right with the world.

 _My love, my joy_ , _my wife,_ he thought looking down at her as they followed Ser Oswell inside the hall. 


	6. Summerhall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The she-wolf and the dragon meet.

 

It was a dream that had brought her here.

 _No, it was a nightmare_ , she corrected herself.

A nightmare of leaping green flames and thick smoke, the helpless wails of a newborn babe and the tears of the mother trying to protect him.

Lyanna had woken up scared, shaking and drenched with sweat. _The heat_. She had felt the heat of the flames lick at her skin. _That must be what the mouth of hell the septons preach about looks like,_ she remembered thinking. It had been an inferno, one that a newborn should not have survived.

Lyanna Stark had heard stories about Summerhall and how it had been consumed by the green fire. It was said King Aegon, Fifth of His Name, had been trying to hatch dragons using wildfire in some Valyrian ritual as his great-grandson was being born in the next room. She could not begin to imagine the terror or the horror the young princess Rhaella must have felt giving birth while that great green jade demon crawled around her.

But then, Lyanna’s own mother had given birth to her under the most extreme of circumstances. Neither she, nor her mother had been expected to survive. But they had beaten the odds. Lyanna had been a born fighter, her mother had always said. _Mother’s own little warrior_ , Lyanna recalled vaguely. After so many years, memories fade, she reflected sadly.

She was gone now, her lady mother. But it did not stop Lyanna from thinking of her as she climbed up the old elm tree and straddled a sturdy branch, one leg dangling down and swinging. She looked down at the courtyard of the castle. It must have been a beautiful garden once, she thought, gazing at the shrubs and bushes in need of a good trim, the wildflowers, the old fountain and the broken benches. Where she sat, she could make out a mosaic depicting the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen. The red had turned into a murky brown after so many years, she saw.

It had taken Lyanna what seemed like a _lifetime_ to arrive here. It had been weeks of studying maps, weeks of scouring the library for any information she could find on the old palace. It had also been weeks of pestering the old maester with questions. “My lady, what is this sudden interest in Summerhall?” he had asked her.

“My lady great-grandmother was Queen Betha’s sister and the queen died there. When you think about it, Starks, Targaryens, Blackwoods are all kin,” she had explained to him. The maester had smiled kindly at her and launched into a history lesson about the marriages and lineages of Westeros that she had not asked for. She let him, though. The maester had grown old and forgot things more often than not. He was apt to forget all about Summerhall the longer he spoke.

She had traveled half the night from Amberly, guided by the full moon and the stars reaching Crow’s Nest when the day was breaking, then it was near a full day’s ride from there to the gutted castle.

Lyanna knew she would be severely punished when her aunt found out she had left the castle alone and without permission. She imagined one of her punishments would be sharing her bed with her cousin Heyla and that pinch-faced, shriveled up septa Dara that Lyanna could not stand. “Your stitches are not straight, my lady,” she would study Lyanna’s embroidery with a critical eye. “You _must_ start over.” _Well, my stitches can be as crooked as I want them to be and I can pick whatever damned color I damn well please!_ But she never said that aloud.

She thought whatever punishment her lady aunt doled out may be worth it in the end. This was where Lyanna wanted to be. This is where Lyanna needed to be. This is what she needed to see. Her nightmare brought her here and she was glad for it. She pulled the hood of her cloak over her head to protect herself from the sudden gusting wind, leaned against the trunk of the tree and closed her eyes. She could see it, the castle as it was before the fire. A tall white marble structure with double doors gilded in gold, tapestries and paintings of long dead kings hanging along the walls of the long hallway that led to the Great Hall.

So deep in her reveries, Lyanna did not hear the quick steps through the rustle of the leaves, nor felt the fingers closing tightly around her ankle until she was being pulled down from where she had been perched. She screamed as she fell down and she was grabbed and hauled up from the ground and held by a strong hand.

“Let _me_ go!” she yelled. _“Let go! ”_  Her voice did not feel like her own and her heart pounded and hammered in her chest.

“You are  _trespassing!_ ” She felt the vice grip on her arm release slowly as she was being turned around, making the hood of her cloak fall from her head. “You’re . . . you’re a  _girl!_ ” the boy sounded startled.

Without knowing what she was doing, Lyanna lifted her fist into the air and hit her assailant on the jaw and he grunted. Brandon always told her to hit the nose because it was easy to break and she scolded herself for missing her target by a league. She thought her hand was broken it hurt so much.

Her attacker suddenly released her and she ran. But she could hear his footfall behind her coming closer and closer. Her feet thundered on the scorched ground as she darted between the standing columns of the palace, tripping here and there over the vegetation that had grown between the slats.

 _A dead end_. She looked around for a doorway, but there was nothing.

 _I should not have left Amberly,_ she told herself. _Impulsive, stupid girl. Will you never learn,_ she asked herself with panic, pulling her dagger from her boot and watching him approach. He was tall, this boy, and he looked sinister with his dark hair, dressed in his dark clothing. And in the night that was beginning to fall, she felt terrified. _Gods be good, he is going to rape me and kill me, leave my body for the carrion crows and the wild dogs. I am too young to die! This is not fair!_

“I am _so_ sorry,” he said in a very calm voice, shocking her as he lifted his hands in the air in a gesture of peace. “I did not mean to frighten you.”

“You think I’m some _stupid_ girl?” she asked him. “The second I let go of my dagger, you will pounce. You will rape me and kill me.”

He scowled at her. “I am _not_ a raper and I am _not_ a murderer.”

“I wasn’t doing anything wrong. I was just sitting in the tree.”

“You should not be here. This is private land.”

“Well,” she held her dagger tighter in her hand, ready to stab him if he came near her. He wore mail, she realized, so she might have to stab him in the leg. “I should not be here, and neither should you. Are you King Aerys? Are you Queen Rhaella? Are you Prince Rhaegar?” she asked him hotly. “The last Targaryen to have had dark hair was Prince Duncan and unless you are him, then _you are_ trespassing too. Same as me.”

“What a mouthy little thing you are,” he stated. “This is _my home_.”

“This is no one’s home,” she finally lowered her hand. “It has not been anyone’s home since wildfire destroyed it.”

At that, he eyed her warily. “Who did you say you were?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “I did not say who I was. You grabbed my ankle and pulled me to the ground. I could have broken my neck,” Lyanna accused him.

He looked contrite by that. “No one comes around here,” he said. “I was surprised and overreacted to seeing your horse.”

She somehow believed that. She did not think he would rape her or kill her anymore. He stood there and studied her face. “Come,” he finally said.

“I’m not going _anywhere_ with you!” she replied angrily.

“Since this is my home,” he told her, “you should have my bread and salt. I think you know I will not lay a finger on you, but just the same, I am extending you guest right.”

“Guest right?”

“Aye. Guest right. You know, you have my bread and salt --”

“I know what guest right is,” she said impatiently before following him. She saw him move his jaw where she had struck him and put his fingers to it. That pleased her immensely, but her hand still throbbed from hitting him. _Brandon told me to never close my fingers over my thumb,_ she recalled. It shamed her that she had remembered none of the lessons her brother had taken the time to teach her.

The boy went to his horse and rummaged through his saddlebag. He took out a cloth and walked to where she stood. He handed her a piece of dried beef. “This is a meager fare, but it should do,” he told her. He then gave her half of an oatcake. He took a bite from his, encouraging her to do the same. She put the dried beef in her mouth and took a small bite from the oatcake and chewed slowly, then swallowed. He handed her his skin. “It’s only water. I trust you will not try and stab me while I sleep?” His lips tugged to one side with amusement.

“No. I will not try to stab you while you sleep or while you are awake.”

“I am most glad to hear that.”

“I trust you’ll not try to rape or murder me in my sleep.”

“I told you, I am neither those things.” He walked to his horse, a gorgeous red stallion, unsaddled it and fed it an apple and a carrot. He then patted its neck and let it roam around the courtyard to graze.

Lyanna decided to pick up dried branches to build a fire. The moon was huge in the night sky and the stars were clear, but the closeness to the red mountains of Dorne made the night cool. She put dried leaves and branches inside a tight circle of rocks. She suspected her mysterious companion had been the one to assemble these and build the previous fires.

“I can do that,” he offered.

“I can build a fire better than you can,” she replied lighting the kindling. She then put down her bedroll and finished her oatcake. She watched him as he put down his own bedroll on the other side of her, keeping a respectful distance from her and the fire between them. He finally sat and looked at her.

“Tell me strange girl,” he started, “do you have a name?”

She looked back at him thoughtfully, her legs crossed at the ankles. “Daena,” she finally said.

“No,” he replied slowly. “That’s . . . that's not it.” He studied her face as though he was trying to puzzle her out.

Lyanna had been careful with her clothes. She had made sure that none of it bore the direwolf of Stark. She wore the oldest pair of breeches she had, the ones that had become so thin they could well tear next time she bent to pick something up. The boiled leather of her jerkin was so faded it no longer looked black and her traveler's brown cloak was frayed in some places. The leather of her boots was peeling, no one would want to steal them from her.

“Might be it is, might be it isn’t. You asked for my name, I gave you it. Whether you believe me or not is no concern of mine.” She thought she should try and be a little bit nicer to him. “I caught a rabbit. Would you share it with me?” Now that they were beside the fire, she thought he looked a little older than she had originally assessed. He had a slender build and he seemed about as threatening as a kitten. He considered her for a moment then nodded. She got up and went behind the elm where her saddle was. She took the rabbit from underneath it and made her way to the fire.

“Here,” he said, “Let me help you,” he took the rabbit from her. He put it on a spit and above the fire then stretched on his bedroll and stared up at the night sky.

“And what’s your name, strange boy?” she asked him.

“Harper,” he said.

She snorted out a laugh, the least elegant of laughs. “Well, if you’re going to make up a name, you should come up with a better one.”

“You should not mock other people’s names. It’s not very nice.”

“It’s very not nice to pull people down from trees either, but you don’t hear me complaining,” she retorted.

“You complained plenty about it earlier.”

She raised an eyebrow and shrugged. “You look like you’re in the Night’s Watch. Are you a deserter?”

“No.” He sounded affronted by her suggestion. “The men of the Night’s Watch are not the only ones in the realm who dress in black. What were you doing up in the tree?”

“Oh, I was looking for golden leaves to make me a golden dress. After that I thought I would bind my hair with grass.” She pulled her sketchbook and her charcoals from her satchel and began to draw the courtyard with the large moon and shining stars looking down on the ruined castle.

“Your golden leaf dress would crumble. You would be better off with yellow silks. You have a sword,” he remarked.

“I do,” she said.

“Are you any good?”

“I would be better at it if the world wasn’t so offended by a girl wanting to learn. Some of us like swords better than we like stitching needles.” Her lord father did not allow her to carry a sword. Whenever she practiced her strokes with Benjen, it had to be done somewhere deep in the godswood where Old Nan would not follow. Old Nan always tattled on her.

Her lady aunt on the other hand did allow her on the practice yard once a week because she understood that she would not be able to curb her niece by forbidding her to do it. Lady Branda gave Lyanna just enough of what she wanted that Lyanna did not feel the need to withhold the truth about what she was up to. But once a week was not nearly enough, and she might take it away from her as part of her punishment for leaving the castle.

“What are you drawing?”

“You ask a lot of questions,” she told him, but he moved to her side and looked down at her sketchbook.

“That’s very nice,” he said. “May I?” he gestured to the sketchbook. She handed it over and he began flipping through the pages. “You are very talented,” he said, stopping on the drawing of a direwolf. “Would you be able to draw the palace as it was before the fire?”

“Maybe,” she said recalling her nightmare. The boy was sitting so close to her she could feel heat radiating from his body. She turned her head and looked at him as he studied another image. His eyes in the light of the fire looked a dark purple. The Targaryens were known for their purple eyes and she heard that the Daynes of Starfall and High Hermitage had purple eyes too. And they were not so far from Dorne. Maybe he was a Dayne. “Why are you here?” she asked him.

“Passing through, on my way down to Dorne,” he handed her property back to her and turned the rabbit around in the flames. “The Lady of Yronwood is said to be very fond of music and song. Thought I would try my luck there, maybe go further south.”

“No,” she shook her head slowly. “That’s not it.”

He looked into the fire, then. “I come here because there is a pull to this place,” he said. “A link, an unbreakable connection. I will always come back here. I like to imagine what it was like before the fire. And if I close my eyes, I can almost see it, the way things were here.” Lyanna heard sadness in his voice, saw it in his dark eyes. There was no hint of a lie in what he said. He looked lost in his thoughts and a wave of melancholy seemed to wash over him. He was a sad person, this boy. To Lyanna, it felt as though he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. It was no way to live, she thought. Or maybe it was just this place.

Old Nan had told her and her brothers stories about King Aegon back when she knew him only as Egg. She told them how he had never forgotten Winterfell or the north. She told them how sad and heartbroken the people who had met him when he was just a boy had been when the raven came bearing news of his death. _Dark wings, dark words,_ Old Nan had said, _and those had been the darkest of words_. She would always get a distant look in her eyes then, as though she was reliving days long gone.

“I am sorry for hitting you,” she told him sincerely.

“Please, don’t be. I should not have done what I did. I could not be sorrier for it.”

She pointed to the stars. “The red wanderer is in the Moonmaid,” she said. “It’s called the Thief north of the Wall. It’s a good time to steal a woman when the Thief is in the Moonmaid.” She had no idea why she was telling him anything about something she had read long ago. She felt especially silly and rather embarrassed by it. She did not know why she had opened her mouth at all after his apology and people were generally not interested in the things she read.

He eyed her curiously. “And are you one? A wildling that is?”

“A wildings this far south? Wouldn't that be something!” She put down her charcoal and wiped her fingers on her breeches. She pulled the rabbit from the fire and rested it against a small rock to let it cool before they ate. She got up and went to the provisions she had pilfered from the kitchens at Amberly. Bread and hard cheese and sausages. “We can share.” He did the same with his own supplies.

“So you’re  _not_ a wildling?”

“I didn’t say I wasn’t. I was in a troupe of mummers that is traveling the Seven Kingdoms. We performed at Crow’s Nest for Lord Lester Morrigen and I decided to leave afterward.”

"I know you are _lying, liar,_ but let’s pretend you are not. What did you do? Sew costumes?”

Lyanna did not like his sarcasm one bit. “No,” she replied indignantly. “I used to juggle and balance on my horse while it galloped.”

“Of course you did,” he raised a skeptical eyebrow at her.

“You don’t believe me?”

“No, I don’t believe you,” he snorted. “And I would dare you to get on your horse and show me this trick, but I feel certain I will live to regret it. I would rather you did not kill yourself trying to prove your point.”

“Well, you don’t know what you are missing out on. I _am_ very good if I do say so myself.” She grabbed the spit and pulled a piece of rabbit for herself before handing it over to him. “Can you really sing?”

“I have been told I am good at it. Do you sing?”

“No. I was once told the Wall would crumble if I kept it up. I would much rather not tempt fate.” Brandon had once told her that when she sang, he was never sure if it was her or the crows that were nesting atop the Broken Tower. “You’re not really going to Dorne, are you?”

He made no replies. He got up from her bedroll and went to his and when he was done eating he laid down. “Thank you for the rabbit,” he said. “You can sleep if you’d like. No one will bother us. And if they did, I have my sword.”

She laughed at that. “What’s so funny about me protecting you with my sword?” He turned his head to look at her.

“You were punched in the jaw by a girl half your size, so . . .”

“A _wildling_ girl, a spearwife in the making.”

“And what would you know of spearwives?”

“I read it in a book once. It was written by a maester who had spent years living amongst the wildlings.” He looked at her with a smile on his face. It was the first time he had truly smiled, Lyanna realized. And it was a warm and genuine smile that lit up his face. He was very handsome, too, she thought. Handsome like the knights in the songs and Old Nan’s stories. He was of noble birth, she was more certain of that now. The way he spoke, with flourish, his courtly manners left no doubt in her mind that he was some lordling. And red stallions like the one he had did not come cheap. Although the Dornish did use sand steads, come to think of it.

 _Harper_ , she almost snorted. He could call her a liar all he wanted, but he was one too.

When she woke up the next day, he was breaking his fast with blackberries he must have picked, dried fish and hard bread. He looked up from his book and smiled at her. “Would you like to spar with me after you’ve broken your fast?” he asked her, showing her the two medium length branches.

She looked confused for a moment, her mind still fogged from sleep. She rubbed her eyes and gazed at him and then down to the branches. “Oh, yes, yes, yes!” she became excited. She would have embraced him if it was not so inappropriate.

 

* * *

 

Rhaegar Targaryen looked away from the girl and back to the starry sky. When he left King’s Landing and rode for Summerhall, he had hoped for peace and quiet. And then he saw her perched on the tree. No one came here. The smallfolk felt the place was cursed and shunned it. And who could blame them after what had happened.

He had felt so ashamed of his actions toward her. Though he did try to cushion her fall, he could still have injured her very seriously when he pulled her down. Rhaegar had never been the kind of person who acted before asking questions. He did not know what possessed him to behave in such a brutish matter. He wanted to die from shame and embarrassment when he realized that on top of everything else, she was a girl.

They both had been here for three days now. She would leave on the morrow. He would remain longer. He felt strangely bereft of her presence even though she was still with him.

The girl, _Daena_ , as she called herself was clearly of noble birth, her sword was castle-forged, though he did not recognize the mark, and her speech was frosted with the accents of the north. He thought she might be three-and-ten or a year older to make no matter. What she was doing in the Dornish Marches alone, far away from a town or a castle was a complete mystery, but he found he did not mind her company. Or her insolence. He found he very much enjoyed the sarcastic tone she used. No one ever spoke to him like that. It made him feel somewhat . . . _normal_.

And she was _very_  pretty _,_ this girl. Not like the girls at the Red Keep or any girl he had ever met. She was pretty in a wild sort of way. She was clever too, and had a dry wit. _Capable and resourceful as well_ , he thought. The stories she weaved made King’s Landing and Prince Rhaegar Targaryen seem like some fever dream, like that was a life that had not belonged to him or a life he had not belonged in.

He had fun with her. Whether they were knee-deep in the stream catching fish or just chatting or doing anything else, really. It made him grateful to have her with him.

“For what it’s worth,” he said after a while, “I don’t find it offending.”

She turned her head and looked at him questioningly. “I mean you swinging a sword,” he explained. “If you want to learn it, then learn it. I believe that if someone wants to do something, then they ought to learn how to do it well.”

“I can count the number of people who have encouraged me to pursue it on the fingers of one hand,” she showed him four fingers, “and that includes you.”

“The maesters called it Aegon’s Conquest and they call him Aegon the Dragon, but Visenya and Rhaenys were warriors as much as he was and dragon riders as much as he was and dragons as much as he was. If you want to learn how to fight, then you can’t let anyone stop you from it. Learn it and be the best that you can be,” he said sincerely. “If you want to ride your horse astride, then ride your horse astride. If you want to be better at sword fighting, then be better.”

“It’s easy for you to say. You’re a boy and boys can do as they please.”

“That is true enough,” Rhaegar conceded. “Yet you don’t strike me as someone who gives up easily on what she wants.”

“My family will not thank you for this little talk we are having.” She turned to her side and stared at him for a long moment, looking, searching his face. “And what if I wanted to run away and live beyond the Wall?” she asked him.

He turned to his side too, and tucked his arm under his head, watched her skin glow silver from the moon above and orange from the fire. “That would be a _terrible_ idea. What if you were stolen?” he teased her.

“I just _knew_ there was someone fun deep down inside screaming to come out!” She smiled widely at him. “You should try and have more fun. Smile more, laugh more. And for your information, a woman cannot be stolen twice.”

“I did not steal you, wildling girl,” he said.

“Since _you_ decided I was a wildling then I believe _I_ ought to know these things better than you. I have been stolen already and that means I am spoken for. If a wildling tries to steal me, well I think I would have to break his nose.”

“I have no doubt you would.” He was so glad it was not his nose she had broken. He would have had a difficult time explaining how it had happened. He moved his jaw. She had taken him unawares and hit him hard enough that his eyes had watered.

“This has been nice,” she said. “I came here to see what this place looked like. No one really speaks of it. No one wants to remember tragedy. But it is so much more than that, I think. I think there is beauty here if a person cares enough to see past what happened.” She turned on her back and put an arm over her eyes.

At times she said things that made her seem wise beyond her years, Rhaegar thought once more as he took his small harp and pulled a note from its strings, then another and another, and before long, a soft melody was rising in the night air.

The girl knew he was highborn just as he knew she was. He did not pry into her life and neither did she pry into his. He had to admit that he was rather impressed with her. There was no pretense of anything. She meant what she said and said what she meant. And under the fearlessness and the bravado, Rhaegar had discovered a sweet and caring girl with a real joy for life that she embraced wholly. He saw it in her eyes and in her smile, heard it in her laugh.

Joy had never been part of Rhaegar’s life. His life had begun with death, duty weighed heavy on him and the future terrified him more than he cared to admit. If he was not up to the task, all would be lost. But when Rhaegar looked at this girl, chatted with her, he could forget everything. Even his true name.

If Tywin Lannister knew Rhaegar was at Summerhall with a girl his daughter’s age, he would combust. And that was the reason he had left King’s Landing. Lord Tywin had brought his golden daughter to the city. The Hand had not given up on the idea of marrying his daughter to the crown prince. Rhaegar had not wanted her then and had told his father as much. Two years later, his feelings on the matter had not changed. Lady Cersei was as beautiful as her lady mother had been as well as courteous.

And she was a schemer, intent on seducing him.

Rhaegar did not care for her, did not care for schemes and did not care to be a pawn in someone’s game. And that’s what he was, a pawn. Tywin Lannister was grasping for more power than he ought to have had in the first place, and he wanted to make his daughter queen, see his grandchildren sit the Iron Throne someday. That was something Rhaegar was adamantly against.

He looked at the girl sleeping peacefully. He stood and covered her with his cloak. _So_ _lovely_ , he thought looking down at her. And a liar to boot. But he found he did not mind. Her lies were not the dishonest lies that poisoned the air in King’s Landing and made the stench of the city even more pungent. These three days with her had been strangely liberating. It was weight lifted from his shoulders and something that felt like freedom.

Freedom, he reflected, what a queer feeling that was, and to feel like this in the presence of someone he did not know, well that was more than what Rhaegar had ever expected.

He realized this girl did not fit in anymore than he did. It was a sad thought. It made him wonder who she was and what her story was. He imagined her family must be worried for her, that they must be searching for her. And he knew she had a family because she mentioned them. He also knew highborn girls did not just leave home. Blackhaven was the closest castle, and Lord Dondarrion had no daughters or wards that Rhaegar knew of.

He thought he knew her from somewhere, though, the answer was there, at the edge of his memory. Niggling at him.

Rhaegar played for a while longer thinking about these past couple of days. He thought on how he spent his seventeenth name day splashing in the stream making a poor show of his bare-handed fishing skills as the girl laughed and laughed at him. It was not because she was better at it than he was. She had just enjoyed seeing him become flustered and frustrated on his quest for fresh fish. He had picked her up and thrown her in the deeper end of the stream.

“You need a bath. You smell _terrible!”_ She did not, but he enjoyed the affronted look on her face.

“If you think you smell better, I have news for you,” she had replied hotly, wading all the way to him, splashing his face. He bathed every morning, she knew as much, but she enjoyed goading him. And he enjoyed doing the same to her. 

 _Was this what a life removed from duty felt like_ , he asked himself. _Gods be good, the people who wanted crowns and thrones were utter fools._

Rhaegar would be knighted in a few short months and before long, the weight of the Seven Kingdoms and monsters beyond the Wall would be his daily fare. He looked at the girl once more when she shifted in her sleep and pulled his cloak tighter around her. He put his harp away and closed his eyes when dawn began to break. When he woke an hour or so later, she was gone, but her things were still there and she had covered him with her cloak and his.

He got up, adjusted his rumpled clothes and went to the stream to wash the night away. As he walked back to the courtyard through the room in which he had been born, he heard a horse rein up.

“Jon?” Rhaegar recognized the man instantly and wondered why he was here. No one ever came seeking him when he retired to Summerhall.

“Your Grace.” Jon Connington dropped to one knee.

“There is no need for that, friend. This is not court. What brings you here?” he asked as Jon stood.

“I am sorry, my prince, but you are being summoned back to court. Something about sitting on the small council on a more permanent basis to learn how to rule.”

Rhaegar snorted. “This has Lord Tywin’s paw prints all over it. He does not give up easily, does he.”

Jon shook his head. “The man _is_ overambitious.” He looked over Rhaegar’s shoulder and frowned. _“You!”_ he pointed behind the prince’s back.

Rhaegar turned around and saw her, scowling deeply at his friend and Jon pushed past him. “What are you doing here?” she asked her voice calm. “Did you come for me?”

“No. I did not come for you. I came for _him_. Half the stormlands are searching for you, you _brat_ _!_ ” Jon said angrily.

“You know her?” Rhaegar asked him.

“Aye, I know her, Your Grace.” Rhaegar gazed at the girl warily, her own eyes were fleeting from Jon to him, shock writ plain on her face.

“I am _not_ a brat!” she defended herself. “I left a note.”

“You left _a note?”_ Jon’s voice became shrill. “I am certain that will more than make up for what you have done.”

“Jon . . .”

“Who _are_ you?” the girl asked Rhaegar. “He called you ‘Your Grace.’ Why did you call him Your Grace, Jon?”

“This is _Prince Rhaegar,”_ Jon replied looking at her as though she has sprung a second head, because how can she possibly _not know_ who he was with his hair dyed black. “And you did not answer my question. What are you doing here?”

She was not listening, though, this girl. “Prince Rhaegar has silver hair and purple eyes, Jon!” She walked up to Rhaegar and grabbed a lock of his hair and pulled hard enough to make him wince. “This. This is black,” she said tugging harder. She sounded confused and angry and he was certain she meant to pull his hair to hurt him.

And Rhaegar felt bad. “My hair is dyed, my lady.” Those beautiful blue flecks he had noticed in her eyes were gone, leaving only a storm of grey.

“Lady Branda must be beside herself with worry.”

“Who are you?” the girl asked Rhaegar stubbornly, refusing to believe the truth.

“Lord Harrold’s lady wife?” Rhaegar looked to Jon.

“This is her niece,” Jon said, “Lady Lyanna Stark of Winterfell. Why did you come here, Stark?” he asked her again.

“Oh.” Rhaegar stared at her. He had been in the presence of the she-wolf, then. “I remember you now. From Castle Black. You have your mother’s look, my lady.”

For a moment, she looked like she was going to crumble. _That was the wrong thing to say_ , Rhaegar chastised himself, _mentioning her mother_. But Lady Lyanna recovered. “That was Prince Rhaegar, you know, the one with the _silver hair,”_ she threw at him. “And why I came here is no concern of yours,” she told Jon. “And how do you even know my lady mother?” she asked Rhaegar. “My lord father took me to Castle Black after she had died.”

“How I know her is a story for another day.” Rhaegar glanced back at Jon. “She was here when I arrived.”

“You impulsive girl. Your aunt will lock you up and throw away the key, and who could blame her! How did you get out of the castle and find your way here?”

“I can read a map and I know how to travel using the sun and the stars,” she threw at Jon then she whirled around on Rhaegar. “You are a _liar,_ ” she accused him.

“You _cannot_ speak to a prince of the blood like that!” Jon scolded her.

 _“I_ am a liar? You called yourself _Daena_ and told me you used to perform in a troupe of mummers,” Rhaegar crossed his arms over his chest. _Daena like Daena the Defiant_ , he thought. That somehow made him appreciate how clever she was even more.

“Gods be good. What is the matter with you?” Jon asked her brusquely. “Pick up your things, I’m taking you back to Amberly. And how did you get out of the castle? And that is _not_ your horse.”

“You are not my lord father or brothers or my lady aunt or my lord uncle to order me about,” the little lady threw at his friend. “You will this stop at once,” she commanded.

Rhaegar watched the interaction. His sibling, Viserys, had barely registered one name day, but he thought this was what bickering siblings looked like. Griffin's Roost was not so far from Amberly and Jon's lord father was fast friends with Lord Rogers. 

“No. I am not your lord father or any of your family, something I am supremely grateful for, but my lady mother is rather fond of you for reasons that go beyond my understanding. She will _never_ forgive me if something bad happened to you.”

“Relax, Jon. Nothing’s happened.” Rhaegar tried to be the voice of reason.

“You don’t know her like I do, Rhaegar. Last time I saw her, she was dangling from a tree upside down and split her head open on the way down.”

“That was not my fault! The branch gave out,” Lady Lyanna replied with calm, but the look in her eyes was other. “I left a note on my bed. I did not say where I was going, but I let them know when I would be back,” she defended herself once more. “I got out of the window, climbed the vine up to the roof and then used the sentinel trees as steps to get out of the castle without anyone seeing me. I paid ten stars to borrow the horse because I would not have been able to take mine out of the stables,” she confessed.

Rhaegar gaped at her in astonishment. Should he really be surprised, though? She had ridden from the Rainwood all the way to Summerhall. He had seen her climb the elm half a dozen times. She had  _stood_ on his shoulders so that she may be able to climb on one of the high walls of the palace. He had his heart in his throat as he watched her stand there and wondered what he had been thinking to even assist her in this.That this was how she had escaped her aunt’s keep should have come as no shock, really. So he began to laugh. He did not think anyone could hold a candle to this slip of a girl. “I am very impressed, Lady Lyanna,” he took her hand in his and kissed her knuckles, “you are by far the most fascinating person I have ever met. I shall remember our encounter always.”

“You should not encourage her, Your Grace,” Jon muttered beside him.

Suddenly, Rhaegar wondered if she could really balance on her horse and juggle while it was galloping. But he did not dare ask her.

“I should get ready to leave.” Lady Lyanna pulled her hand out of his taking the warmth of it away.

“I am going to wash the dye from my hair,” Rhaegar said. “I will accompany you to Amberly. Your lady aunt may go a little easier on you if I am there, yes?” She looked defeated as she nodded at him.

When he returned the horses were saddled, the bedrolls put away. She was standing by the elm and her eyes went wide when she saw the black gone from his hair. He rummaged in his saddlebag and took out his old rumpled traveling cloak, the one that bore the three-headed dragon of Targaryen, red on black. He pulled it over his shoulders and tied it around his neck. She shook her head with no uncertain amount of dismay and looked away from him.

“Get on your horse,” Jon ordered her. Lyanna Stark did not strike Rhaegar as someone who was easily cowed, yet she did not protest. He thought the magnitude of what she had done had finally dawned on her. He should have insisted that she give him her identity, but he saw something in her that reminded him of himself. She was stubborn as a mule that one, same as he was.

“Just a moment,” Rhaegar said. He took her hand in his and pulled her down to one of the broken benches. He felt he owed her something. An explanation, perhaps. Even if he was uncertain it would make all that much sense to her. “My lady, this place is haunted by ghosts. My ghosts. Every one of them lives here. Yet, this is the place I love best in the world. When everything becomes too much to bear, this is where I come to seek solitude. I come here, I play my harp and watch the stars. Summerhall is filled with sadness. But it also has its very own beauty and there is something akin of magic here, I think. I did not lie when I said this was home. Yet these past nights, sitting by the fire with you were the best nights I have had in a very long time. I was glad I had you for company.”

“You should have told me who you were.” Her voice came out faint and flat.

“Maybe. And I should have insisted you reveal your identity. But I suspect you and I had similar reasons keeping who we are secret. The truth is, I felt more at ease with a stranger than I did at the Red Keep surrounded with people I have known most of my life. And I think you may understand this. There were no titles here, no expectations, we could just be whomever we wanted to be, me a traveling singer and you Daena, even though you did not believe my tale anymore than I believed yours.” She nodded her head slowly, her eyes boring into his with intensity. Her eyes were a darker grey in this light, and the beautiful deep blue flecks were visible once more. _Like precious jewels,_ he thought. “Forgive me, Lady Lyanna?” he asked her.

“You have a lot to be forgiven for. I shall think on it, Your Grace.” She sat straight as a rod, her hands folded together, observing her courtesies. So she _could_ behave like a lady if she chose to, Rhaegar reflected. He preferred the girl who spoke her mind and laughed with abandon.

“And that is all I ask. Whether you choose to forgive me or not, I thank you just the same.” He stood from the bench. “And it’s just Rhaegar,” he said. “I pulled you down from a tree and you bruised my jaw. I think you and I can forego the formalities.” He squeezed her shoulder gently.

“Old Nan told me a story once about my lord father’s great-grandmother, the Lady Lorra.” She spoke as she stood, wrapping her tattered cloak around her when the cool breeze came gusting through the courtyard and Rhaegar wondered where this was going. “Your great-grandfather came to Winterfell once. He called himself Egg back then. He was squiring for Ser Duncan the Tall and no one knew who the boy was, no one really cared, but Old Nan said they thought he might have been of noble birth while they were certain Ser Duncan was of low birth. They did not pry into his identity, though, because we’re not curious like that in the north. He wanted to go into the crypts, your great-grandsire. He wanted to find a clutch of dragon eggs that Vermax had left there. _‘Targaryen property,’_ he called it afterward.”

Rhaegar swallowed thickly. This is where he had died, Aegon. He lifted his eyes to the castle walls, blackened by wildfire and the passage of time. Of the people who knew Aegon when he was a boy, only his Uncle Maester still lived and he had been sent to the Citadel when Aegon was a small boy. Aemon was at the other end of the world, at the Wall, while Aerys and Rhaella never spoke of Summerhall or those that died here. “Did Vermax leave a clutch of eggs at Winterfell?”

“There were rumors. Prince Jacaerys had flown on his dragon to Winterfell to meet Lord Cregan Stark to receive his support during the Dance of the Dragons. There were rumors after that. Even now, there are still rumors.”

Rhaegar knew that story well. Cregan Stark had been promised a Targaryen princess. The Pact of Ice and Fire, they had called it. “Ben, my youngest brother, and I, we went looking for them too, but we never found anything where we looked. But the crypts are eight thousand years old and have many many levels. Anyway, my lord father’s grandfather, Willam, he showed Prince Aegon to the crypts. Willam was half his age and was not fond of going there. He did not like the dark much. When Prince Aegon went deeper and deeper, down the levels, Willam decided that he did not care to see more statues of long dead Stark kings, so he returned and told his lady mother what the prince was up to. The way Old Nan tells it, when Prince Aegon finally emerged, Lady Lorra was waiting for him, angry. She did not like it when the children ventured down there. She gave him a clout on the ear and she was going to bend him over her knee and take a switch to his behind when Ser Duncan stopped her and told her who he was.”

And Rhaegar laughed. He laughed and felt tears sting his eyes. “So you see,” Lyanna Stark gave him the cheekiest smile he had ever seen. “Hitting princelings runs in the family.”

“I’ll not tell a soul that you hit me,” he leaned forward and whispered near her ear.

Lyanna leaned forward as he had. “I’ll not tell a soul that I hit you, but that’s only because I would sooner not lose a hand for smacking a prince of the blood,” she whispered near his ear and Rheagar realized in that moment how fond of her he had become. 

“I thought princes were stupid, but you’re not so bad,” she admitted to him with something of an exasperated sigh, but he knew the exasperation was a feint and that she was jesting with him.

Whenever Rhaegar returned from Summerhall to King’s Landing, he had a new song. A sad one, usually. Rhaegar had been conceived to fulfill a prophecy and prophecy had destroyed his family.

The song he would make this time would be about a maiden and a tree and golden leaves and hair bound with grass. It would be filled with memories of this girl who was unlike any girl he had ever met or would ever meet. Lyanna Stark was what magic must be like and feel like, he thought.

He put his fingers under her chin, tilted her head up gently and gazed at her. “You are not so bad either,” he said to her with a grin. “Come. Let’s take you home.”


	7. The Not so Quiet Wolf

Ned’s earliest memory was the birth of his sister. With all but two namedays under his belt, Ned had found her to be the ugliest thing he had ever seen in his young life. She had been bald as an egg, red-faced and squalling. If that was what a sister looked like and sounded like, then Ned had no need of that. He wanted no part of her.

But things changed, and Ned had become fiercely protective of his sister and when his mother had asked him to look after her shortly before she had returned to the gods, Ned had taken that request to heart. Now, though, he wondered if he had done right by his little sister at all.

“That’s enough drinking, Ben,” he said taking the cup of wine from his brother. “I think you have had more than enough for the remainder of the tourney.”

Benjen shrugged at that. “It’s odd seeing Lya in all the samites and silks and velvets,” he said. “She was in breeches even at Amberly. When I visited before she went to King’s Landing, Prince Rhaegar came with Lord Connington and Ser Arthur Dayne. They were coming back from Essos and rode up from the Weeping Town. She didn’t even bother changing into a dress to greet him. She had just come back from riding, and she just stood there in the yard all sweaty and dirty and still in her breeches. It made the prince smile when he saw her like that. I had never see Aunt so displeased, though. She chewed Lya out afterward, said how she did all she could but that she was throwing in the towel.”

“What did Lya have to say to that?” asked Ned.

“She just shrugged.”

“Of course she did.” Ned wondered why he had even bothered asking the question in the first place.

“He is fond of Lya, Prince Rhaegar, I think,” Benjen commented.

Ned looked at Prince Rhaegar Targaryen, a man who looked more like a god than a man, his indigo eyes lingering on Lyanna longer than they ought to.

Ned remembered his sister at six, stalking down the hallways of Winterfell with Brandon’s old wooden sword in hand, swatting at an imaginary foe, and he remembered his sister at eight, playing come-into-my-castle and at monsters and maidens where she was the hero slaying the beasts. She had been Rhaenys and Visenya and Nymeria and Daena the Defiant. She had also been Aemon the Dragonknight and Florian the Fool and Daeron the Young Dragon. At the age of eight, she had liked him best, that young king. Ned used to tease her over it, telling her she liked him best because she found him comely. She had never liked that.

Ned remembered his sister at ten, so broken and sad after their mother had died, how she had clung to Brandon as though he had been her only lifeline. He also remembered the vicious nightmares she used to have, waking half the castle with her screams and wails and rarely recalling what had frightened her so much. The nightmares had been the primary reason their lord father had sent her away from Winterfell, to give her distance between her grief and night terrors.

Ned remembered his sister at two-and-ten, racing her horse down the kingsroad, still climbing trees and still yearning to be let out of the constraints of her sex, but she was also pragmatic. She understood she had a duty to her House. She understood she had to marry and bear children. She had never been in love with the idea. If she was to marry and have children, she wanted the man to be one she chose and who chose her in turn. But that too was not possible. Being able or allowed to marry for love was such a rare thing.

Ned remembered his sister at four-and-ten, different in so many ways, yet still the same in so many ways. She was a girl but not quite a girl and she was a woman but not quite a woman. Ned remembered thinking she was growing up far too quickly.

And he remembered not four moon’s turn ago, how blown away he had been by how much she had changed physically. He had been blown away and dismayed by it all at once. There was barely any trace of the girl left in her face. His sister had grown into a beautiful young woman, who turned heads and had men gaze at her with lust and longing. It had made him uncomfortable and wistful for days gone when things were so much simpler. Would that she had stayed six forever, stalking down the hallways of Winterfell with Brandon’s old wooden sword in hand.

Ned remembered just how wroth she had been with him too, for bringing Robert’s marriage proposal to their lord father, how distressed she was, the way she had looked at him as though he had betrayed her and the bond they shared.

He had thought long about the proposal. Robert loved Lyanna and had been wanting the match for longer than two years. But Ned had stalled. _Lyanna was too young, Lyanna was too wild, Lyanna was too willful, Lyanna was, Lyanna was, Lyanna was . . . Lyanna would be upset_ _,_ his thoughts always led him to that inevitable conclusion, and Ned could not bear to see her upset but he could not keep this from his lord father any longer.

He got up and went around the trestle table. “Dance with me, Lya,” he asked taking her away from her conversation with Lord Connington. She looked up at him and seemed to consider his offer before she let him walk her to the dance floor. “I know you are angry with me.”

“I was angry,” Lyanna replied, looking up at him, “Now I’m just hurt. Look at him, Ned! Has he been sober since he arrived here? Is this what you believe I deserve? Even the worst woman in the world doesn't deserve this.”

He did not need to look at Robert to know what he was doing. And what could he say to her that would not sound like an excuse for his friend’s poor behavior, or false? Ned had grown up with Robert, he had known him better than he even knew Brandon or Benjen or even Lyanna who was the one he had always loved best. But Robert’s behavior had been the furthest thing from honorable. Ned could justify some of his friend’s vices to witnessing his parents’ ship break against the rocks of Shipbreaker Bay during a violent storm. The drinking had certainly gotten out of hand after that horrific incident.

“No. You deserve a man who will love you and he already does. You may come to love him too.”

She shook her head at that. “I love you, Ned, but you err. He loves the idea of me. He knows the tales you have told him. I have not been that person in a long time, Ned. I am not the eight year old girl you remember, Ned. I am coming up on my seventeenth nameday in a moon’s turn.”

“You are still the same in a lot of ways.”

“And I am different in a lot of ways. My mind and my heart are different. I like to think I have grown.”

“You upended your cup of wine over Ben’s head.”

She shrugged at that. “There was one sip left and he asked for it. Ben needs to learn to keep his mouth shut.”

“What did he say to you?”

“What he said to me is none of your concern, Brother.” She sighed. “Ned, this is not what I want, nor what I wanted. I know Lord Robert is the brother you chose, I understand that, but I am _your sister_ _._ What of my feelings?” she asked him. “Do they count for so little that this is what you think is right for me? Robert is not interested if he can’t fuck it, fight it, or drink it. One guess which he is interested in when it comes to me.”

He hated when she used this language but he knew she was not wrong. “What is it that you want, Lya?”

“I want to be free to my own life, Ned. I want to be able to _choose_ for myself.”

“We don’t live in songs, Sister. Florian and Jonquil are long gone and this is not Jenny of Oldstones and her Prince of Dragonflies nor is it the Maiden of the Tree and her prince. There will be no love songs sung for us.”

Ned looked down at his sister whose eyes were closed and he wondered. How could he not?

He had not questioned her arrival into the hall on Prince Rhaegar Targaryen’s arm. Lyanna and the prince knew each other; they had for a number of years. Lyanna had attended Queen Rhaella both in King’s Landing and on Dragonstone. Ned had not been surprised to see her arrive with him and he had not been surprised when the prince had made his way down from his seat and asked Lyanna to honor him with a dance.

Step after step, twirl after twirl, Ned watched as Prince Rhaegar turned Lyanna and drew her to his side, watched as Prince Rhaegar lifted Lyanna off her feet and held her close to him, nary a breath of air between their bodies. He watched her hands rest on the nape of his neck, watched her fingers hook in the silver-blond hair, watched how Prince Rhaegar kept her a fraction of a second longer in his arms after the song had ended. He had finally let her go, though he had seemed reluctant to do so.

He watched as the prince smiled down at Lyanna. As true and as genuine a smile as Ned had ever seen from him.

He saw the softness in Lyanna’s gaze when her eyes met the prince’s and he wondered if others had noticed it too.

He watched as Prince Rhaegar took Lyanna’s hand in his and walked her to an empty bench where they both sat, talked and laughed, drawing curious eyes to them. The prince was not a man of great displays. Even Ned knew how private he was. This, he thought, was contrary to the man’s character.

And Ned wondered. There had been talk at the Eyrie that Prince Rhaegar had not wanted his betrothal to the Dornish princess. It was said he loved a woman who had been denied him and that he had left the Red Keep in anger over it, retiring to Dragonstone where he had remained until very recently.

It was said that the prince loved the Lady Cersei Lannister, the Light of the West, golden and beautiful and rich. It was said that the king feared his son and his Hand. Aerys feared Prince Rhaegar would rise in rebellion against him so much that he felt the prudent course of action was to give his heir to the Dornish. It was said he had been all too pleased to accept the offer of marriage that had come from the Princess Dorea of Dorne. It was done for spite. It was done to spite Lord Tywin Lannister who had wanted the prince for his daughter, the tongues wagged, and it was done to spite Prince Rhaegar whom the king no longer trusted.

But somehow, none of this seemed right. Ned was not one to overthink things. But this . . .

Ned wondered as he looked at the prince playing a game of tiles with Lyanna, passing a bowl of blackberries and cold cream back and forth between them like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Lyanna, his little sister who looked more like a Targaryen princess in her black and red dress than she did a Stark of Winterfell.

“And have you chosen, Lya?” Ned asked her. “Did you already make your choice, Sister?”

She looked at him for a beat. He did not know if she meant to answer his question, or not. One thing that had not changed was how she always managed to evade answering questions she did not want to answer. 

Flushed from drink, Robert had pushed himself away from the bench. “I will enter the joust on the morrow,” he proclaimed loudly, and the hall came to a standstill. “I will enter the joust and I will challenge this so-called Knight of the Laughing Tree,” he roared with laughter as though the name had been the funniest thing in the world. “And when I tumble him to the ground, I will rip the helm off his head and reveal his face. Then we will see who this craven is.”

Beside him Ser Richard Lonmouth was nodding vigorously. “I will challenge him as well,” he said.

King Aerys stood and spoke. “This knight is no friend of mine. I will reward anyone who unmasks him. This person does not love us. The last time a mystery knight entered the lists, he meant to murder our beloved son and heir, the future king of these Seven Kingdoms.”

Off in the corner, Prince Rhaegar’s eyes blazed with anger. Ned did not know if it was the memory of the tourney at Storm’s End or if it was Robert’s silly talk. But the way those unnatural eyes bore into Robert, well it left no doubt in Ned’s mind who the prince’s anger was directed toward. The prince’s hands clenched into fists at his side as he kept looking at Robert.

Ned had not even realized his sister had moved from his side until he saw her standing between Rhaegar Targaryen and Ser Oswell Whent. It only made Ned wonder even more. _They are friends_ _,_ he told himself. Lyanna had this gift; she had this inherent ability to befriend everyone, even reserved princes, it seemed to him.

Then they left the hall together.

Two days later, when Brandon lost his tilt to the prince, it was Ned who had gone to the pavilion bearing the colors of House Targaryen.

The prince was being helped out of his armor by his squire when Ser Barristan Selmy announced him. “I can take care of the rest, Willas,” the prince told his squire, “but don’t go too far in case I have need of you.”

“I will see to the lances and Midnight,” the boy said. A Tyrell, Ned saw. A handsome boy with brown hair and golden eyes.

When he left, the prince poured wine into two cups and handed one to Ned. “To what do I owe the pleasure, Lord Stark?” he asked, pointing to the plate of food sitting on a small desk that was cluttered with books.

Who brought this many books to a tourney, Ned wondered bewildered. “Help yourself, my lord,” the prince said as he rummaged through one of the chests on the ground, finally pulling a tunic of grey wool out. He removed the quilted coat he had worn under his armor and the sweat-soaked tunic before he threw on the clean one. He then turned to Ned and waited.

Ned felt his tongue become thick in his mouth.

“Your brother rode beautifully,” the prince said, leaning back on his desk.

“He did, but he still lost.”

“I have lost more matches than I can count,” the prince shrugged. “It stings. My pride has been hurt several times, but I always get over it. He will too. Do you joust, my lord?”

“No, Your Grace. It’s not for me.”

“It’s not for me either,” the prince commented. Ned had known that much. The prince seldom entered the lists, but he always performed very well when he did.

“Brandon’s horse and armor . . .”

“Are his. I do not collect ransoms, my lord. But there is an orphanage in Harrentown that Lady Whent is a patron of. I would be remiss if I did not mention it. If he wanted to give coin to help the septas who run it, that would please both my lady of Whent and myself greatly.”

Ned was surprised by that. “That is most kind of you, Your Grace. I will make sure to pass along the message.”

The prince nodded and crossed his arms over his chest. “Was there something else?”

 _This is it_ _,_ Ned though. “May I speak freely, Your Grace.”

The prince frowned at that taken aback by the request yet he nodded. “You can always speak freely, my lord.”

“My sister, Your Grace --”

“What of her?” Prince Rhaegar unfolded his arms and braced his hands on the desk so hard, his knuckles turned white.

“She is betrothed, Your Grace.”

The prince’s frown deepened. “I know, my lord, I received the raven bearing that news. Same as everyone in the Seven Kingdoms.” He paused for a moment and shook his head. “Say what you mean.”

“My sister is engaged to marry Robert Baratheon and it is unseemly that she spent as much time with you as she has,” Ned said frankly.

“Two dances and a game of tiles, my lord?” the prince asked. “I would hardly quantify that as a lot of time.”

“Your Grace, people . . .”

“I have known Lady Lyanna for a number of years now.” The prince pushed himself off the desk and began looking at the spine of his books, dividing them into different piles. “I am fond of her, I admit freely to that. I count her as one of my closest and dearest friends. I cannot count the number of times we have gone riding together, or sparred in the yard. I cannot count the number of hours we spent in the library together, or chatted the night away. She is an important part of my life.”

He looked straight into Ned’s eyes and he saw it, then, that same streak of stubbornness he saw in Lyanna’s eyes. Stubbornness that Ned loved her for and cursed her for all at once.

“Please understand me, Your Grace. My sister does not always weigh the consequences of her actions.”

Prince Rhaegar ran a hand in his hair and gave a humorless chuckle. “Am I being accused of something, my lord? If that is the case, then I would sooner hear the accusation than beat around the bush.”

He waited. “I see,” Prince Rhaegar finally said. “Lady Lyanna knows her own mind. That was the first thing I discovered when I met her. I have never told her what to do, nor have I ever put her in an uncomfortable position.”

“Her honor may be called into question,” Ned finally said.

The prince’s eyes narrowed and hardened and Ned could see anger shine in them. He thought the prince was going to retort, but he said nothing. Instead, he stared at Ned for a long moment. It seemed to stretch into eternity. “Tell me, Lord Stark, when your brother Brandon forced Lady Lyanna onto the dance floor with Lord Robert who was well into his cups and became handsy with her, where were you? Was her honor of so little concern to you, then?”

“I did not see the incident you speak of, Your Grace. But I told Robert to not presume. Lyanna is his betrothed, not his possession to be treated however he sees fit. Lyanna is still my sister.”

“I am glad to hear that.” The prince sighed. “I have an uncle at Castle Black,” he then said. “I must have been three-and-ten the last time I was there; much to my shame. I should visit him more often. He is too old to travel south and he would never leave his post even if he could travel,” he explained. “In any case, when I was there, he took me aside and we had a long drawn out discussion about honor and duty while my arm was elbow deep in a bucket of meat and blood as I helped him feed the ravens. I never forgot that conversation. Sometimes, people come at a crossroad and they make choices no one expects of them, but they make them just the same.” He paused for a second before he continued. “People have always gossiped. It’s a sport. If the Lady Lyanna ever became victim of slander, then her honor would be mine to protect, although I do not believe I need to tell you that she has never needed defending.”

“No, she never has. But her honor is not yours to protect, Your Grace.”

“I am her prince and she is a subject of the realm.”

“Her honor is House Stark’s to protect and Lord Robert Baratheon’s when she becomes his wife.”

“Ah, yes!” Prince Rhaegar exclaimed. “And here we are. Robert Baratheon. Please do spare me this talk of honor, Lord Stark. It sounds false when you decided your sister deserved to be saddled to a man such as he. Lyanna is wonderful. She deserves better.”

Whatever madness seized Ned, it was too late to pull back once the words came spilling from his lips. “Better? Someone like you? Or you, Your Grace?”

The prince shrugged. “I have known your lady sister since she was three-and-ten. She has been a joy to have in my life. I am sure in your eyes, this will make me dishonorable or a hypocrite or arrogant or all three, even. With respect Lord Stark, I will not give her up to please you, or to please Lord Robert. Not for anything in the world.” His voice was hard and brooked no further argument.

Ned inclined his head. “By your leave, Your Grace.”

Prince Rhaegar nodded. “You have it. Thank you for your visit and for speaking your mind. I expect this conversation will not reach other ears, yes?”

 _For all the good it did,_ Ned wanted to retort. But Prince Rhaegar let him speak his piece, that had been a lot more than Ned had expected. “I will not breathe a word of it.” He bowed and left the pavilion.

He spotted Lyanna, in a very simple dark blue cotton dress trimmed with vair at the collar and sleeves. She was standing near her tent, with a bouquet of crocuses in her hands, chatting with Ser Kevan Lannister. What they were talking about, Ned could not say, but they were both smiling. Ned often forgot how many people his sister knew because of her life at court. Ser Kevan bowed his head respectfully before he moved on.

Lyanna turned around and saw him then. She tilted her head and smiled at him. Ned smiled back. If she knew where he was and what he had been up to, she would not be smiling at him. She would try to throttle him instead.

The prince had chosen, Ned reflected. He may not have come out right and said it, but Ned could still read between the lines all the same.

 _“And have you chosen, Lya?”_ Ned had asked her as they had danced together _. “Did you already make your choice, Sister?”_

Ned had never needed an answer to know what the truth was. He hoped the prince and Lyanna would grow apart once they both married the people they had been promised to. But Storm’s End was uncomfortably close to the Red Keep and that was going to be a problem.


	8. Queen of Love and Beauty

 

As a daughter of Dorne, Elia had been told since she was old enough to understand that she must do her duty by her House. It was something she had always taken to heart.

When her lady mother had come to her with the marriage agreement she had made with King Aerys, Elia had been thrilled. Prince Rhaegar had a stellar reputation. He was handsome and unlike his lord father. He would be king someday. The best since the Conciliator, her uncle of the Kingsguard, the Prince Lewyn Martell had said her.

Elia did not know if Prince Rhaegar was Jaehaerys come again, but she could believe the prince would make a good king. She had seen it in his interactions with the lords, and she had seen it in the way he had handled the king’s outbursts. With calm and diplomacy and dignity.

The prince had not warmed to her, though.

He had been polite and kind in her presence, but he did not make efforts to speak to her or spend time with her, nor had he tried to get to know her. The prince had been indifferent to her. That much had been clear. It had rankled Elia and irritated her brother.

 _I should have expected it, though, shouldn’t I?_ She had asked herself a dozen times. _Mother told me the prince had not wanted the betrothal because he loved and had pledged himself to another._

Dorea of Dorne had chuckled when she had recalled that moment with the prince. “I told him that he was born to duty.”

“And what did he say to that?” Elia had asked.

“He looked at me quite incredulously and pointed out that I had married for love. He was quite insolent about it too. He is so mild-mannered, I did not think he had it in him. The man may have the blood of the dragon running through his veins after all. I knew the prince since he was a small boy, toddling about with books heavier than he was. He surprised me.”

“Who is she?”

Her mother had shrugged. “He did not give her name. But she is no Jenny of Oldstones that one, I can tell you as much. She is not some commoner. In time, he will come to love you, Elia. If not, he will still have to share your bed and provide heirs for the crown. You will be queen someday and your son will sit the Iron Throne. Imagine that.”

 _Aye, imagine that! Elia Martell, just a field to be plowed and seeded. Sounds like a dream,_ Elia had thought. The thrill she had felt at the idea of marrying the prince had gone out of her. As soon as he got his children on her, he would never need to look on her face again. Elia found her fate to be a cruel one.

The rest had gone unsaid. The only reason her mother had jockeyed so hard to marry her daughter to Prince Rhaegar was because she had felt slighted by Tywin Lannister. He had insulted her and by the same token insulted House Martell and Dorne. For Princess Dorea, this was retribution and the crown prince and future lord of the Seven Kingdoms, the Prince Rhaegar Targaryen was the prize she had set her sights on and won.

Months later, with her mother gone, Elia found herself asking her uncle of the Kingsguard who the lady was. “It’s not the one people gossip about,” he had replied.

“If not Cersei Lannister, then who?” Elia had asked him.

“Sweetling, it is not for me to tell. I had warned your mother when she asked me about the prince’s nature. Prince Rhaegar is a good man. He is dutiful and loyal. And he is loyal to his lady. He has loved her a while now.”

“You said he is dutiful, Uncle. Surely he will do as he is bid and become my husband.”

“He will not marry you, Niece.”

“Has he said that to you?”

“No. He has not. I am not in the prince’s confidence, but I have known him since he was half a boy, still at his books and shunning the training yard. Rhaegar is deliberate. It is just the polite way of calling him willful and stubborn. If this lady was not part of his life, then I have no doubt he would do as he was bid and take you to bride. But she is in his life.” He had sighed heavily. “Everyone is so busy paying attention to the rumors about the Lady Cersei and dissecting her interactions with the prince that they don’t see what is staring them in the face. Cersei Lannister is the smoke screen behind which Prince Rhaegar hides and protects the one he truly loves and wants to be with. He shoulders Aerys's scorn and mistrust and talk of treason over these rumors.”

“Does Lady Cersei know?”

Prince Lewyn had smiled. “I don’t know what she knows. I can tell you she is the source of the gossip, however. I don't know that she understands what it is she has done.” He sat on the canopee. “What Dorea did was unkind. It was unkind to the prince and his lady, certainly. It was unkind to you, most of all. You were her daughter, she should have had your best interest at heart, and this situation is not it. What will happen to you when you bear children, Elia?”

 _Become bedridden,_  Elia thought. _Become barren. Die, even._  The maester at Sunspear had not softened the truth for her. Her mother had shrugged, reminding her that she had had a number of miscarriages in the ten years it took for Elia to be born. Elia did not think her mother had disclosed this information to Aerys. Somehow she did not think he would have cared either way, so long as he put Lord Tywin back in his place.

“Rhaegar will do his duty, no more. And the day the maester tells him you are barren, he will take another wife. And if you die, he will take another wife, just the same. And it will be her. There is no situation where he will not be with her. Your mother put pressure on your shoulders that you did not need. That was thoughtless of her. ‘Unbent, Unbowed, Unbroken,’ she said to me when I reproached her, presuming I had forgotten who I was and where I had come from from. I don’t think your lord father would have agreed to this had he been alive.”

“Father had no love for the dragons,” Elia replied. “What is she like, Prince Rhaegar’s lady?”

“Kind-hearted but rough around the edges, willful, quick to smile and quicker to laugh, caring, gentle, respectful of everyone, from the lowliest kitchen scullion to the highest lord, but she does not allow anyone to step over her toes neither.”

“Sounds fascinating. Is it true you keep a paramour?” she asked

Beside her, her uncle had shrugged. “I do. For all the vows I have taken and kept . . . I am no Barristan Selmy. I have loved her a long time and I did not want to give her up. Aye, I am breaking one of my vows, but it is a vow I will break a thousand times over for all the happiness she brings me. There is precious little of that and we are here only a short time. The prince will visit your bed out of duty, to ensure that his line continues. It will never be for pleasure or companionship. He may grow fond of you in time, but whatever lofty expectations of love you may have, you need forget them, child.”

Elia may never have been the picture of health, but what afflicted her body did not afflict her mind. She was neither stupid, nor was she blind. The world may gossip about Cersei Lannister, and her uncle may have chosen to guard his tongue where the prince’s business was concerned, but Elia thought she already knew who this mysterious lady was.

Elia had seen her on the night of the feast to mark the opening of the tourney, dressed in greys and whites, sitting at table with her brothers and their bannermen. Lyanna Stark was not what Elia had pictured. The talk was that the girl was wild, but Elia saw a girl who was poised, restrained and attentive, graceful on the dance floor and very lovely. More than what Robert Baratheon deserved judging by his behavior that night. Elia had seen a girl who knew her courtesies and seemed well-liked. What did wildness matter if Lyanna Stark could behave herself as a lady ought to when the time called for it?

Elia did not know Prince Rhaegar very well. They had met once when he had traveled to Dorne to consult the library at Sunspear. She had been ill when he came and it had taken her handmaid more time to help her dress and do her hair than Elia had spent in the prince’s company. He had been courteous, but otherwise indifferent. He had spent long days in the library and then taken his leave and returned to King’s Landing. He could not have been more than four-and-ten back then.

Prince Rhaegar was not indifferent to Lyanna Stark. That much Elia could tell. She could tell during the feast, when Lord Robert Baratheon had taken the lady for a dance. The prince had tensed and his fingers had grasped the stem of his goblet so hard she thought he might break the thing or his fingers.

When she had mentioned that to Oberyn, he had shrugged and called the girl young, beautiful and very fuckable. Oberyn himself could not take his eyes off her as the lady danced with Ser Arthur Dayne. Hot-blooded men were not indifferent to her anymore than they were indifferent to the Lady Ashara or Elia herself, her brother had said to her.

_It's not the same, though._

As the tourney progressed, Elia saw Lady Stark race her horse against men bigger and stronger than she was and nearly win.

And she saw her enter the hall on the prince’s arm the last time either of them had made a show of presence at the Hall of Hundred Hearths. She had been dressed in black Myrish lace lined with satin of the same color and slashed with red samite. She had looked as though she was on fire from the waist up.

The contrast between what she wore during the opening feast and that evening had been startling. Lyanna Stark looked more like a Targaryen princess than she did a Stark of Winterfell. She looked more like Rhaegar Targaryen’s intended than Robert Baratheon’s.

Prince Lewyn had left Elia a little shaken and with much to think on. At least, she had been prepared when the time had come to meet with the prince. She had found him sitting atop the battlements looking down on the yard, a small smile upon his lips.

He turned and looked at her, gestured her to sit. They stared at each other for a moment before he finally spoke. “I should have done this much sooner,” he said regretfully, shaking his head, his gaze turning back to the yard below. And Elia could see her, Lyanna Stark, down there, in a blue cotton dress trimmed with vair, flowers in one hand and holding the hand of a small boy with silver hair, dressed in silver and sea green.

“Better late than never, I suppose,” Elia replied. “Who is the boy?”

“Aurane. Lord Velaryon’s natural son. He has four namedays and wants to be a ‘piwate at Towtuwew’s Deep’ or so he says since one of the maesters showed him the Stepstones on a map,” the prince replied, taking Elia aback by the jest. _Is this what Rhaegar Targaryen is really like,_ she wondered. “He is a sweet boy,” the prince was saying.

“And very fond of the lady it seems,” she said watching as the boy picked a flower and gave it to her. Lyanna Stark bent down and kissed his cheek and then took his hand again and walked toward the Velaryon tents, to find the boy’s father no doubt.

“She is good to him and enjoys his company. He has grown attached to her since his lady mother passed. She helps him forget he misses her. She was making good on her promise to take him to the mummer’s show,” Prince Rhaegar said.

Elia nodded and he turned his full attention to her, finally, after the lady had disappeared beyond the tents and pavilions.

 _I will be understanding,_  she promised herself, but being here was much harder than she had expected it to be. Her uncle was right, Elia had been done wrong by Prince Rhaegar and King Aerys and her lady mother. The latter was the one that had really stung, though.

The prince and the king were nothing to her. She barely knew the prince as it were and Aerys frightened her. Sitting on the dais near him had been a challenge to her courtesies. He had mostly ignored her and for that Elia had been tremendously grateful. “My lady mother told me you loved a lady, though she declined to give me her name.”

“I never gave her a name, my lady. I was told she paid good coin to loosen the tongues around the Red Keep, however. As far as I know, she never got very far. There are a lot of highborn ladies who attend my lady mother.” He shrugged. “There is a lady, that is true enough. And I do love her. I can’t remember a time when I did not,” he told her.

“Is she here, this lady?” Elia asked sitting across from him. She looked down at the yard.

He ignored her question. “Your lady mother laughed at me when I explained to her why I could not marry you. She said I had the blood of Aegon the Unlikely running through my veins for true. His children had all married for love, but duty must come before matters of the heart. She told me to marry you and keep my lady as my mistress. Even Simon Toyne trying to murder me in front of a crowd did not make me half as angry as she did that day. I will never forgive the look in my lady's eyes when I told her what had happened.”

Elia would have said something to defend her lady mother’s memory, but what could she say when she knew her mother was not above saying things like this?

“After Duskendale, my father had put it in his head that I meant to marry Cersei Lannister and use Lord Tywin’s armies to depose him. Nothing could have been further from the truth. When your lady mother came knocking, well that became the answer to his prayers. Nothing I said could sway him to see the light, to return to the agreement he and I had reached. I knew who I wanted to take to bride before I had reached my eighteenth nameday. I knew who I wanted and I knew who I loved and my father tried to take that from me. Your mother could have put a stop to that, changed her mind. She refused to.”

“You could have married her two years ago. Why didn’t you? If you had taken those steps, you could have been married to her by the time your eighteenth nameday came around.” she said. He could blame his mother and his father all he wanted. But where was his responsibility in all this?

“She was too young and yearned for freedom. I would not take that from her. I do not need to remind you that royal marriages come with expectations of heirs. A son to sit the throne after I am gone from the world. My lady mother was scarcely four-and-ten when she birthed me and I have seen the toll that it has taken on her, the difficulties she experienced afterward, the miscarriages and the stillbirths. No matter her feelings for me, something like that would have poisoned our marriage. I would not have that. And the last thing I wanted was to lose her in the birthing bed. But I had spoken to my lord father and he was aware of what I wanted, he had assured me that he would communicate with her lord father. That was less than half a year before the events of Duskendale. It has been like living in the eye of the storm ever since. Lord Darklyn, Lord Tywin, your lady mother . . .”

“My mother was slighted by Lord Tywin,” Elia said. “She was avenging her honor and my honor and Dorne’s honor by taking away what my Lord of Lannister wanted most. _You._ She wanted to punish him for what he said to her and you became the means by which she could achieve that.”

He gave her a dispassionate look. “It was petty,” he said. “What she did has hurt more than one person, including yourself, my lady, her own daughter.”

“Your Grace,” Elia had started, “I have always known I had a duty to my House and to Dorne. And you have a duty to your House and the kingdom.”

“My duty to my House is to marry and provide heirs. I do not have to marry someone of my father's choosing to do that. I am not a purse of coin to be given away freely to the person who won the final tilt at a joust,” he said in a resentful and cutting tone.

 _Neither am I,_  Elia had wanted to say. She ground her teeth instead. “Honor . . .”

“Honor?” he asked her. “There’s that word again. The Others take all this talk of honor! Pray, my lady, do you find any of this honorable or fair? Your lady mother could say that duty must come first until the Wall melts, and the long night comes around once more. She married twice. And twice she married for love. _Twice_.” He lifted two fingers to make his point. “Your brother, Doran, the heir to her seat married for love. Political alliances were the furthest thing from his mind when he took a Norvoshi lady to wife. Where was his concern for duty then, my lady? And your other brother is not like to ever settle, nor has he been forced to. Yet, _you_ were given away freely to a stranger to do your duty to your House and honor your lady mother’s word. Not your word. Hers. Where is the fairness in that?”

 _Bitter,_ she thought, the words were bitter but no less true and it seemed like it was something the prince had wanted to get off his chest for a while. “My lady,” he came down from where he had been seated and helped her down. “My words are harsh,” he said apologetically. “I wanted us to speak and clear the air between us. I wanted to explain myself because I have been cold toward you for no reason than I did not wish to get your hopes up. I do not mean to hurt you or your feelings.”

 _Don’t you?_ she wondered. _You have your little lady and I have shattered dreams because I tried to do my duty. How is this any fair to me?_ She thought of the Rogare heir who had come from Lys inquiring after her. She had grown fond of him in the time he had spent in Dorne. But her mother had sent him on his way and turned down every proposal thereafter. No one would serve but the Dragon Prince.

He had married, the Rogare heir, but his wife had died in childbed, she knew. He would seek another wife soon enough. She could be her, she thought. She could mother his children and in time give him another without having the pressure to provide heirs. She prayed she would not die as his first wife had. And her babe, well he or she would be hers and hers alone and she would love them with everything she had.

“You deserve none of this, Lady Elia. None of it is your doing. None of it is your fault. I bare as much of the blame as my father and your lady mother do. I should have been firmer, I should have been braver. I was not. As time went by, I grew afraid that my lord father would hurt her or worse. It is a horrible feeling, my lady. I do not wish it upon anyone. I did what I could to shelter her from him.” He shuddered as though his mind had gone to that terrible place. “Will your brother stop you from what you want? From choosing for yourself?” he asked her.

She shook her head. She knew how to handle her brother. She suddenly felt a little better knowing that she had options.

“You will make any man happy,” the prince was saying.

“Just not you?” she asked

“Just not me,” he said.

“We can still marry.” After a conversation like this, a last ditch effort would not be entirely inappropriate. But she knew his mind was made up.

Prince Rhaegar shook his head. “No. It would go against the laws of the gods and the laws of men.”

Elia’s eyes grew wide as he gazed at her, his arms crossed over his chest. “I thought the Targaryens answered to no gods and no men,” she replied.

“We don’t. But I would rather not tempt fate. There are plenty people who will be unhappy as it is.”

“How long?”

“Before Duskendale.”

 _That long? How did no one know about this,_ she wondered. “Consummated?” she asked.

He raised an eyebrow at her. “What do you think?” _Yes, consummated. Several times over,_ Elia thought.

“If I can’t be queen, perhaps my daughter could be.”

“You want me to promise the son I don’t yet have to the daughter you don’t yet have?”

Elia nodded slowly and smiled. “A Dornish queen. There has not been one since Mariah Martell.”

“I’ll not make decisions for my children without consulting the woman who will bring them forth into the world.” He sighed. “I grew up with two parents who could barely stand to breathe the same air.”

Prince Rhaegar leaned over the battlement and looked down on the yard again. His face lit up with a smile. The prince was beautiful, Elia thought, but when he smiled, he looked otherworldly. She was back in the yard, the Lady Lyanna, changed out of her pretty dress and into breeches, holding her mare by the bridle. “You asked me if my lady was here,” Prince Rhaegar said and he pointed her out to Elia. “You are clever and I think you were looking for confirmation on what you already knew.”

“I guessed. There was nothing subtle about the way you kept looking at her, or the way you danced with her. I’m surprised more people don’t know.” She shrugged. “I spoke to her, congratulated her on her second place during the horse race.”

“She raced beautifully,” the prince replied, his eyes shining with pride and Elia envied that. She often wondered what her life would have been like had she been born healthy.

“I often find that people tend to enjoy rumors more than the truth,” Prince Rhaegar was saying. “Rumors can be embellished, while the truth is mundane. Lyanna Stark has a reputation that tends to precede her. They say she is willful and wild and boyish. She is certainly willful. I have been on the receiving end of that willfulness a few times. And she is unrestrained at times and she does enjoy swordplay and loosing arrows. If those things make her wild and boyish, then so be it. But she also has a loving heart. She is good and kind to everyone around her. She is bright and clever and easy to be around. She doesn’t make those below her station feel small or unimportant. And she looks as beautiful in a dress as she does in breeches, but I am biased when it comes to that. People don’t care to know anything past what they've heard about her. They decided that Prince Rhaegar would never fall in love with her. They have convinced themselves of it. Lya and I are happy to let them think whatever they wish, so long as they leave us alone.”

“When did you know you loved her?”

The prince looked at her for a beat before he turned his gaze back to Lyanna Stark. “I knew I loved her when I began missing her. Bu I realized I was in love with her the morning I was leaving her aunt’s keep to return to King’s Landing. I got on my horse and I looked at her, and I realized I did not want to leave her. I came close to blurting it out when I was saying my goodbyes. There has not been a day since when I haven’t fallen in love with her all over again.”

Elia wondered what it that felt like. “Lady Stark is betrothed to Robert Baratheon,” she said. But there was more going on here. If the rumors were true and the prince wished to call a Great Council, then the support he needed would begin with his goodfather, the Warden of the North. Lord Rickard was a powerful man in his own right and he had gained powerful allies with the fostering of one son in the Vale and the betrothal of another to Lord Hoster Tully’s daughter.

“The truth is other, my lady, and the time for playing games is done.”

They fell silent. The prince’s eyes followed Lady Lyanna until she trotted out of the yard and out of sight. “I know your brother will be wroth,” he said. “Expecting anything less would be the height of arrogance, but I do hope I can count on Dorne’s friendship when the time comes and the time is coming when these Seven Kingdoms will need to unite under one banner and one leader for the sake of survival. Houses and names will no longer matter. Everyone’s lives will hang in the balance and we will either survive what is coming together or perish together.”

_Gods be good, is he mad like his father? What is he talking about? Is war coming?_

“What do you want of me, Your Grace?”

“Dorne’s friendship,” the prince said without hesitation. “I know I do not deserve it, but hope springs eternal. I do hope I can have your friendship as well, my lady. But I know I ask for a lot.”

And so he was asking for a lot and Elia would not commit to that. “I will speak to my brother upon my return home.”

“I pray you will find the same joy I have found,” he said sincerely. “I can think of no one who deserves it more. You were more understanding than I had the right to hope for and I thank you for that kindness.”

“It must be nice to have your heart’s desire.”

“Lyanna is not my heart’s desire, my lady. Lyanna is my heart. She is my home.”

When Prince Rhaegar struck Ser Barristan Selmy’s breastplate clean to unhorse him in their final tilt, Elia’s final exchange with the prince resonated in her head.

She watched as the prince tossed his helm to the ground and took the beautiful crown of winter roses he would bestow upon his queen of love and beauty. Elia looked on as he wheeled his horse around, his eyes searching the stands until he found who it was he had been looking for and urged his horse forward.

“Your Grace,” Elia had spoken cautiously before they had parted, “I understand you love the Lady Lyanna, but is she worth the mayhem your revelation will cause? Is she worth your crown?”

“Love is the bane of honor and the death of duty, my uncle once told me. I am hers and she is mine. There has not been a day when I questioned or regretted loving her or choosing her. I was at a fork on the road and I did something no one would have expected of me. Dutiful Rhaegar chose love. She is worth every sacrifice I will ever make. She is worth everything. What I have with her, I would not trade it for anything.

"My crown means little and less. I have duties to the realm that is true enough. I have no need to sit the throne to see them through.” Elia could hear Prince Rhaegar Targaryen’s voice as clear as she had heard him three days past as he used the tip of his lance to deposit the crown of winter roses in Lady Lyanna Stark’s lap.

Elia gazed at Lyanna Stark, who looked like the Maiden herself, in her cream colored velvet dress and white and grey cloak, her hair was a turbulent tumble of curls and waves. She remained seated while everyone around her had leapt to their feet in outrage. That was especially true for her eldest brother. Outrage did not begin to describe the look on his face.

Lady Lyanna took the crown to her nose, then she rose abruptly and left the benches, leaving chaos in her wake.

Elia felt sorry for the northern girl. She felt sorry for the prince too. The way he and his little lady loved one another sounded beautiful. It sounded heartbreaking too. Like the songs Elia had grown up sighing to.

“What is honor compared to a woman’s love?” the prince had asked her. _Nothing. Honor means nothing compared to that,_ Elia had wanted to say. She had only smiled wistfully and nodded at him.

For better or worse, Rhaegar Targaryen had rolled the dice. And if war was coming, then Elia was glad she would be far away from it.


	9. Tales of Tourneys

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up:  
> There is "some" smut in this chapter, but it's what I call "clean" smut. It's not graphic or anything like that. I'm not a huge fan of graphic to begin. I also don't really write sex scenes because I am extremely lame at it, so it's fairly amateurish and tame. It starts with "They had come together" down to "He had won the tourney at Harrenhal" should anyone wish to skip it.
> 
> I think that's it!

“A silk dress?” the voice had come from behind her.

Lyanna had no need to look to know who the iron tones belonged to. She suppressed her smile, turned around and raised an eyebrow. “I could not very well keep to my breeches and tunics in such prestigious company,” she had retorted sarcastically. “I would have changed into something else, but I promised my lady aunt I would be on my best behavior. She complained that I gave her more grey hairs than her own children ever did. I thought I would spare her a few more.”

Rhaegar had shaken his head and smiled fondly at her as they walked between the stalls the merchants had set up near the tourney grounds to sell their goods.

“Should you be alone without a Kingsguard, ser? What if the ironborn decided to attack Lannisport?”

“The ironborn will not attack Lannisport,” he had replied. “And a Kingsguard would attract attention.”

“And your silver hair and purple eyes will not? It is true," she said thoughtfully, "you _are_ wearing a cloak that makes you invisible. No one can see you!”

“You don’t miss a step, do you? There are other men with silver hair about,” he had pointed to a Lyseni before he pulled the hood of his old cloak over his head. " _Now_ I'm invisible!" He gave her a cheeky smile, took her hand in his and pulled her behind him. 

“Where are we going?”

“My lord father brought me to Casterly Rock when I was a boy. We remained nigh on a year. Ser Barristan was my sworn shield back then and he used to accompany me whenever I wanted to leave the walls of the keep. We found this place one day, a small hidden path to the sea, right below the harbor, and I kept coming back because of how quiet it was. I would come here with my harp or a book and stay for hours on end."

“How old were you?” she had asked him.

“Seven or eight, I think.”

“In the north, we have Sea Dragon Point. It has all these hidden coves. It’s very beautiful. When my lady mother lived, we used to go and camp out. We would swim if the weather was warm enough and dig for clams along the shore.”

“Sounds wonderful,” he had squeezed her hand in his.

“It was,” she said, hiking up her dress and her threadbare cloak so that they didn’t track sand. She kicked off her slippers, touching her bare feet to the cooling sand. The prince bent down and picked them up for her and they walked into the sheltered bay. “No one really comes around here,” he had said.

They had sat on a flat rock and stared out at the sea.

Lyanna had seen Rhaegar often since Summerhall. He had traveled to Amberly thrice. Once for her nameday where he had gifted her a beautiful sword forged for a woman’s hand. Like Dark Sister, he had explained to her as she tested the balance. Her lady aunt had been dismayed but she had said not a word. It would not have done to protest a gift from the crown prince. Instead, she had watched from the battlements as her niece sparred in the yard below with the heir to the Seven Kingdoms under the watchful eye of the master-at-arms.

He had come a second time to consult the old library. And the last time had been to see the mines of amber.

When he had accompanied Lyanna from Summerhall, the prince had lingered a fortnight. Twice he had remained a full moon’s turn. The last time, he had stayed two whole turns and had looked somewhat reluctant to leave. Her lady aunt had written Lord Rickard after that. Lyanna had not been privy to whatever had been said in that letter.

They had gotten to know each other well during that time. Prince Rhaegar was a private person yet he had been open with Lyanna. He had been open and forward, had explained to her what he was looking for in the library. He had done so with apprehension, but Lyanna had understood, so she had told him the tales Old Nan used to tell her and her brothers, about the Others and the Last Hero. She had left things at that. Someday, she had resolved, she would tell him all about the shapes and shadows that haunted her dreams and the reason her ancestor had bent the knee to Aegon the Conqueror.

They had seen more of each other still. There was the time she had traveled to Griffin’s Roost with her lady aunt and cousin Heyla, to visit the Lady Connington. Prince Rhaegar had arrived shortly thereafter and stayed a fortnight before he had dyed his hair black, donned plain clothes and continued on his way to Summerhall. He had jested that he should take her with him. But Lyanna thought he might have been serious and she would have followed him in a heartbeat if she could.

The last time she had seen him before Lannisport had been at Maidenpool where she had booked passage for White Harbor and he for Braavos. It had been a chance meeting and they had spent three days at the inn by the pool where Florian the Fool had come upon Jonquil and her sisters bathing eons ago.

They had talked a lot at Maidenpool. They would sit by the hearth at the inn and chat while they waited for the storms to pass. Ser Arthur would sit further away with Ser Oswell along with the three guards who accompanied her.

There had been freedom at that inn. Her aunt Branda was not there at every turn, keeping a watchful eye. Rhaegar and Lyanna broke their fasts together, went on rides together. They had been caught in torrential rains between Duskendale and Maidenpool and looked like drowned rats by the time they had managed to make it back to the inn. The way Rhaegar had smiled at her after that made the chill she had caught worthwhile.

The more time Lyanna spent with the prince, the less she wanted to be parted from him. He set her heart to racing and her palms to sweating and one day, she began to wonder what it would be like to kiss him and be kissed by him, to fall asleep beside him, to feel him move inside her. These were all things she had always been adverse to. Lyanna had never wanted to be shackled in a marriage, or see her belly swell with child.

Then he came along.

And things began to slowly change.

She did not rebel against the idea of marriage any longer. Having a child did not frighten her as much.

So long as it was with him.

Lyanna had tried to shut down her heart. Explaining the feelings Rhaegar Targaryen had awakened within her with that one single heavy word filled her with anxiety and dread. And nothing but heartache would come of it, she had reasoned.

“They say that before the tourney is ended, His Grace will announce your betrothal to the Lady Cersei,” Lyanna had said. It was not something she had intended on bringing up. It was not her concern who the prince married, shared his bed with, fathered children on. Yet the thought of that golden harpy on Rhaegar’s arm or any woman really, made Lyanna’s stomach clench.

“And who are ‘they’?” Rhaegar had asked her.

Lyanna had shrugged. “The gossips?”

“And pray tell, Lyanna Stark, when did you begin listening to the gossips?”

Lyanna had looked down at her toes, partly buried in the sand. “I don’t. It’s hard to not hear when that’s all anyone is talking about.”

“You do not want me and Cersei Lannister to become pledged?”

 _What do you want me to say_ , she had wanted to ask him. She only gazed at him as he frowned. “My apologies, my lord, I did not mean to pry.”

It had been his turn to frown. “You were not prying. Whoever ‘they’ are,” he had said to her, “ ‘they’ are wrong. This is not a match I desire. I did not want it then and I do not want it now. And my royal sire has been opposed to it as well. There will be no announcement of such. Not before the end of the tourney or ever. My lord father could have used more tact and kinder words, but Tywin Lannister is a hard-headed man and he wants what he wants. He thought making the proposal again, now that his daughter is older would sway my lord father. It did not. It will never happen.”

“Oh.” Lyanna had been grateful she was sitting. The wave of relief she felt made her body shake.

“Besides,” Rhaegar had continued, “there is this lady I have had my eyes on for half a year now. She is playful and thoughtful and assertive and adventurous and so lovely. She has the most beautiful grey eyes that I have ever seen and when she smiles . . . well . . . there are no words for the way that makes me feel. And I am so in love with her. She has brought indescribable joy into my life. I have ridden leagues upon leagues and tried to find any excuse to spend as much time with her as I possibly could.”

His gaze had flitted down to her lips before flitting back up to her eyes. And Lyanna saw something in those indigo eyes. Love. Hope. Desire.

She cleared her throat. “This all sounds scandalous, my lord. It seems to me you wish to kiss this lady,” she had whispered, feeling emboldened by his words.

“There is nothing I’d like to do more, but I’m afraid that if I kiss her, I will never want to give her up.”

“Then don’t give her up.”

And just like that, Lyanna had gone from wondering for months what it would be like to be kissed by him to knowing. She felt the warmth of his breath against her cheek and his lips brush against hers at first, before his mouth opened just enough to trap her lower lip between his. It lasted seconds and then he had pulled away from her, leaving her heart racing, wishing she could stretch that feeling.

“I have a confession to make,” she had said.

“What’s that?” He had moved closer to her.

“I met this boy at this gutted castle and I didn’t think much of it at first, but then he came for a visit and I found myself hoping he would come again. And then he came back and came back again. And then these feelings I have for him, they just crept up on me, like my heart feels so full when he is beside me and my hands shake just enough that I know they are shaking. We were at Maidenpool one day and were caught in the rain, when we managed to finally make it back to the inn, the way he smiled at me, I almost told him I loved him. These feelings scare me. They scare me a lot, in fact.”

“It is a frightening notion. It is like losing control over a part of oneself. I was not looking to fall in love. I always thought I would marry for duty rather than passion. My path was set, from the moment I was born. And it did not bother me. I had a duty and I would see it through. Then you came into my life and challenged all of that. And now I find myself balking at the things I knew.” He brushed a strand of hair away from her face. “My lady, my love. My joy,” he had whispered and Lyanna looked down at where their hands still held, their fingers twined before she looked up at him again.

“I just had a notion.” He brought her hand to his mouth and kissed it. “Would you like to come to King’s Landing and attend my lady mother? We would get to spend more time together and she would allow you as much free time and freedom as you wish to have.”

King’s Landing and the Red Keep and him every day. She nodded. “I think I’d like that very much.”

“I will ask her to write your lord father and make the request.” He cleared his throat. “I had not come here for confessions of love,” Rhaegar had said with a sheepish smile. “I came here to ask you for your favor.”

“My favor? And do you ask for favors from all the ladies, ser?”

Rhaegar had chuckled at that. “Just the one I’m head over heels for.”

She could tear the silk from her dress, but that would get her a lecture from her lady aunt that she did not care to hear. “I don’t have anything on me just now, but my favor is yours. It shall always be yours.”

His hand went to the ribbon she wore in her hair and he tugged at the ends slipping it from her locks. “Then I will have this.”

She had made this ribbon herself. He knew that. He had seen her struggle with it as she had sat there with thread and needle and all the patience she could muster to please her aunt. Lyanna had chosen the colors, had drawn the pattern, roses blue as frost on silver, and sewn the thread in carefully. She had put in countless hours and given up countless times before she had finally finished it. She had been pleased with the result and pleased with herself most of all. “I have nicer ones in my trunk,” she told him. “Ones that were purchased from women who can turn a piece of organza and thread into something beautiful and flawless.”

“I don’t want a ribbon you purchased. This one is beautiful and flawless and it means more because you made it,” he had replied in earnest, pulling the sleeve of his doublet and tunic up and giving her his wrist. Lyanna had not needed instructions. She wrapped the ribbon twice before she tied a knot.

The ribbon was now faded and frayed, but Rhaegar still wore it about his wrist. He had told her not three days past that he did not intend on removing it. Ever. That the ribbon still brought him luck and that he thought he would win this time. She had put her blue rose necklace around his neck. For good luck, she had told him. He had won the final match against Barristan Selmy to crown her his queen of love and beauty.

Lyanna could still see that moment clearly, when he had looked for her in the stands, wheeled his horse around, trotted toward her and used the tip of his lance to put the crown of winter roses upon her lap. He had not said a word, just looked her in the eyes before he turned his horse around and rode away.

“Do you think you’ll win?” she had asked him as they both stood to make their way back to the pavilions.

“I will try my best,” he had replied.

Rhaegar had not won at Lannisport, but he had come very close. “He can win at Storm’s End if he decides to enter the lists,” Jon Connington who had been sitting beside her had said with confidence.

Yes, Storm’s End, Lyanna thought.

But Storm’s End had nearly cost her her love and her heart.

A week after she and Rhaegar had wedded before the old gods and the new, she had sat in the stands like everyone else and watched as knights from this or that House took to the lists. But she knew something was amiss when a mystery knight entered the field and challenged Rhaegar. It was not unheard of, but it had felt wrong somehow. Beside her, Jon Connington had tensed too. Dread had settled in the pit of her stomach after that and she wanted the day to be done.

On the first pass, the mystery knight had aimed for the prince’s throat and nearly threw the helm off from the violence of the hit. The lance had broken and Lyanna had shuddered to think what would have happened had Rhaegar’s gorget not been fastened properly.

On the second pass, the lance had been aimed low, toward the horse Rhaegar was mounted on, a beautiful black-blue destrier who had gone unnamed until Lyanna had suggested he should be called Midnight. Rhaegar pulled back ensuring his horse was not injured, and managed to take the mystery knight below the breast.

On the third pass, the mystery knight struck the prince’s shoulder. She was not sure how Rhaegar had managed to remain on his saddle, let alone land a blow in the middle of the other man’s battered armor.

And when Rhaegar lifted his visor, all Lyanna saw was how furious he was. She could see it in his eyes and in the way he held himself. She thought he too knew that this mystery knight had not challenged him for sport but to murder him in front of a crowd.

And they were not the only ones who had come to that same conclusion. Across the field, the three Kingsguard were standing at attention. Barristan Selmy’s hand was hovering by the hilt of his sword, Ser Arthur had loosened _Dawn_ from its scabbard and Oswell Whent had vaulted himself over the fence already. Lord Steffon's sword was out and he leaned on the hilt. It would not do to have the crown prince felled under his roof. No matter how fond Aerys was of his cousin, Lyanna did not think the king would forgive the man if his son and heir was gravely injured or killed.

Rhaegar dead. Her mind rebelled against the thought. Suddenly, she wished they had consummated their marriage. He had wanted a feather bed for her and comfort, not a straw bed at some inn they chanced upon on their way down to Storm’s End. 

The jousters had come together once more and Rhaegar’s lance struck true. Lyanna saw the moment when the mystery knight was lifted off his saddle in an explosion of wood and thrown clear into the air and down into the dirt. He had rolled around several times, losing his helm in the process, before he finally came to a stop. Rhaegar had removed his helm and tossed it aside, the streamers of red and orange and yellow silks attached to it looked like flame in the dusk before it too landed in the dirt.

Fury marred the face Lyanna loved so much. Rhaegar’s nostrils flared and she thought he might breathe fire.

The mystery knight had gotten to his feet and whispers had gone up in the crowd. _Simon Toyne_ , a voice had come from behind her, followed by more whispers of the name.

Simon Toyne would not dare show his face at a tourney, Lyanna thought. Yet, judging by the way Steffon Baratheon had lurched forward, shouting orders to seize the man, the way Arthur Dayne’s face had contorted with anger, and Rhaegar . . . if Lyanna had doubted . . .

Time had slowed to a crawl. Lyanna watched in horror as Simon Toyne leapt to his feet and pulled out his longsword. Rhaegar swung down from his saddle calmly and pushed the limp strands of hair that had clung to the sweat on his forehead away. He stared at the outlaw with that unflinching gaze of his, daring him to come at him. He unsheathed his sword and held it straight, pointing it at Toyne. “If it is single combat you wanted, all you had do was ask, _craven,"_ he had shouted. His tone was cutting. It was the voice of Prince Rhaegar Targaryen, the crown prince, the heir to these Seven Kingdoms, she was hearing. It was the voice that did not give an inch.

“What I want is to gut you and eat your beating heart,” Simon Toyne had replied. “What I want is to end you and your family.”

“If you want me, come get me,” Rhaegar had replied.

By then, though, the Kingsguard were creeping closer to him with every step they took and the Baratheon men-at-arms were closing in. “Stand down!” Rhaegar had shouted at them, gripping the hilt of his sword, but Arthur Dayne was there, his own sword in hand. Ser Barristan and Ser Oswell flanked their prince, the latter getting a hold of Rhaegar’s arm and pulling him back unceremoniously as he was starting toward the outlaw.

Sensing the situation had soured, Simon Toyne had run for his horse and fled.

Rhaegar had thrown his sword to the ground in anger and winced from the pain. For a brief moment, his eyes met hers through the crowd before Ser Arthur led him away, Ser Oswell close behind as they disappeared behind the pavilions and toward the castle.

Her eyes had followed him and then he was gone from her sight. She had sat on her bench stunned by what had just unfolded. Beside her Jon Connington was speechless. She slipped her shaking hand into his steadier one and he squeezed it reassuringly. “This is the last thing I expected when we arrived here,” she said when she had finally spoken. The benches had completely cleared. It was just them two who had remained.

“You should go find him,” Jon had said.

“I can’t go barging in while he has a maester and Lord Steffon attending him.”

“That may be, but it has been a while now and we both know you are the one he will want and we both know you will not feel better until you see with your own eyes that he is fine.”

Lyanna had looked at Jon then. “I remember Summerhall like it was yesterday. With his dark hair and all, standing knee-deep in the stream trying to catch a trout for our dinner. I think I love him even more for having met him away from court.”

“I remember how he looked after he met you. Dazed is a good description for it, I think. Lovestruck, after his second stay at Amberly.”

“Do you still --”

“-- always,” he had replied, “but I also know my place. He is my friend and my prince,” he whispered. “I will serve him faithfully for as long as I live. And I will love the children you will have as though they were mine own.” His face was flushed and near as red as his hair. Jon Connington had never said a word of his feelings, but Lyanna had known anyway. He cleared his throat. “Go to him, Your Grace.”

And so she had gone to him, Lyanna recalled, closing her eyes and inhaling a deep breath. The salt from the sea tickled her nose.

Storm’s End smelled much like that. The gusts of wind that came from Shipbreaker Bay carried the smell of salt and brine all the way to the tourney grounds and the castle.

Storm’s End had been the threat to Rhaegar’s life, but had also become the place where they had consummated their week long marriage. Recently, Lyanna had come to appreciate the irony in that.

She and Rhaegar had come together in a frenzy of lips and tongues and teeth, ragged breathing, and hands tugging at the laces of her bodice and hands fumbling with the laces of his breeches. Lyanna had kissed every bruise he had collected from his day of jousting as he released her from the constraints of her dress. She could feel it, that searing heat and how it pooled low in her belly and between her legs. And when she ran her fingers over his unlaced breeches and felt how hard he had become and heard a low moan rumble deep in his throat, well that had only spurned her on.

He had swatted her hand away, though, before she could wrap her hand around him and walked her back to the bed, one hand over her breast, his thumb running circles around and over her nipple while the other hand worked her over her smallclothes before he pushed them down her hips and Lyanna stepped out of them. Her legs hit the bed and she sat, looking up at him. “I want you,” he had said to her, getting to his knees before her and kissing a trail down her belly. “If we do this, there will no turning back.”

“Why would I ever want to turn back?” Lyanna had asked him. “I want this marriage and I want you.”

“And what if you grow tired of me?” He pushed her onto her back and she slid up to the center of the bed.

“Then I’d have to take a paramour like they do in Dorne,” she had jested as he opened her legs gently. She knew what was coming and she felt herself flush with heat and anticipation. His fingers pushed slowly inside her.

“Stop talking,” he had muttered as he kissed the inside of her thigh before he buried his head between her legs and caught the bundle of nerves at the top of her sex. Lyanna arched her back off the bed as his tongue and lips worked her to the brink, one stroke away from completion. He had pulled away from her then, leaving her panting and wanting.

“I might keep you if you finished what you started,” she had said. 

“You are the worst!” he had retorted running the tip of his tongue from her underbreast to the top of it. He pushed his breeches down and laid on top of her, using his forearms to support his weight.

“You already knew that. Don’t be slow about it. Just do it,” she had instructed him.

“I’m not going to rip into you,” he had replied and she could feel him there between her legs poised to enter her.

“You said I was iron, might be I’ll br --.”

“ _Do not_ finish that sentence if you want this marriage to be consummated," he warned her.

She had giggled. “I’ll stop. But your ears are flaming red and . . .”

He shushed her. “Gods help me, I love you, Lyanna.” He held her hand above her head, their fingers twining and when he nuzzled her neck, the smell of his soap filled her nose.

“And I love you.”

He had bent his head and kissed her hard and she could taste herself faintly on his lips. “Ready?” he asked her. She had nodded and closed her eyes tightly and held her breath. “Relax, Lya,” his fingers brushed the side of her face. “And breathe.” Slowly he had pushed inside her. It was uncomfortable and she felt herself stretch and burn. Once he was sheathed inside her, she released her breath.

“Open your eyes, my darling.” When she did, he looked into them, searching. She knew he was trying to gauge her level of comfort, so she smiled and nodded. The discomfort was mostly gone, the burning had subsided some and she no longer felt as though she was being stretched beyond her limit. She felt him move inside her, slowly, every stroke building her back up to that brink.

“Are you okay?”

“It’s a little uncomfortable, but I’m surprisingly fine.” She lifted her head to kiss him, wrapped her legs around him, crossing them at the ankles and her hips started moving of their own volition. Her body had taken over for her. It had felt as though she had done this with him a thousand times before and when she gazed into his face, she felt herself fall in love all over again.

She had felt her body clench and quiver and her breath hitched and she felt that explosion he'd made her feel before with his mouth and fingers. It was small at first, then had grown and grown. It was as though her senses were heightened all at once before her mind went blank. With a grunt and a thrust, Rhaegar spilled his seed inside her. She dropped her legs and her arms wrapped around his neck.

For a long moment, Rhaegar's eyes remained closed and his forehead was rested against hers, his fingers moving languidly in her hair. The world had shrunk and it was just the two of them who existed in it. Then he pulled out of her, out of her embrace and pulled her on top of him, taking her in his arms and keeping her there. _Safe arms_ _,_ Lyanna thought, _my safe place._

“How do you feel?” she had asked him.

“Great from this. Exhausted from the joust. Grateful I did not take the milk of the poppy,” he pointed at the cup on the side table. “This would not have happened if I had. You?”

“Sore. But a good sore.” She pulled the furs over them. “Sleep. I will be here when you wake on the morrow.”

Rhaegar had made it all the way to the end of the joust but had lost his final match.

He had won the tourney at Harrenhal, though.

The ship lurched and Lyanna opened her eyes and stared at the wooden ceiling of the cabin she and her brother were given by Lord Manderly. They would travel to White Harbor and then make their way to Winterfell after that.

She ran a light finger on the petals of her crown of winter roses that rested on her midriff. She had followed Rhaegar shortly thereafter to his pavilion and found him by himself. He had looked at her with some apprehension. Lyanna had been prepared to tear into him, but she was as weary of keeping secrets as he was. Instead she had shrugged and kissed him, the way she kissed him when she wanted more than just a kiss, even though she knew that there would be no time for that.

When she pulled away from him, he took the crown from her hand and placed it on her head and smiled at her. “Thank you, but you should have given it to someone else.”

 _“You_ are my queen. No one else. It’s yours. I wanted to give you the crown at Lannisport and I wanted to give you the crown at Storm’s End, but I lost both times. Someday I will give you a crown made from gold and gems. It will be as beautiful as you are.”

They had been interrupted before she could say anything by angry voices. Lyanna could make out Brandon and Ser Arthur’s raised voices. Brandon had been so angry when Rhaegar had put the crown in her lap, she thought he was going to rip the thing apart. “What did you do, Lyanna?” he had screamed at her in front of their bannermen. It had taken Ned and Benjen to restrain him. She had fled the moment he had had his back turned.

She sat up in her bunk and looked at Benjen whose eyes were closed. “Rhaegar did nothing wrong,” she said, her gaze flitting down to her crown of winter roses before it returned to her brother. He turned his head and looked at her. “How can you say that? He bypassed his betrothed and crowned you his Queen of Love and Beauty in front of your own betrothed and half the realm besides. Brandon would have been well within his right to slug him.”

“Brandon has no room to speak of honor or of me being dishonored when he bedded Ser Arthur’s sister. The only reason he is still standing is because Rhaegar commanded Aethan stand down. Brandon would be rotting beneath the ground if Rhaegar had not intervened on his behalf,” she said, feeling her temper flare. “Brandon cared nothing about honor when he crawled between the Lady Ashara's legs. I couldn't even look at Ser Arthur, a man I consider a friend, I felt so shamed!”

Benjen sat up and stared at her. “I know the prince is fond of you, but you are far too familiar with him.”

Lyanna felt her throat tighten. The effort she put into not crying was tiring, so she let her tears spill. “You don’t understand,” she managed to choke out.

“I understand plenty. You love him. That's plain as day. Even Ned who doesn’t notice anything, noticed." _Ned,_ she thought sadly. Ned who had taken her aside to speak to her when they'd arrived at Maidenpool. She had told him what was in her heart, but his reaction told her he was not ready to hear the rest. So she had said nothing more than that she loved the prince and that he loved her back.

"What good is it going to bring you, Lya? The two of you can never be. You are both promised elsewhere. Your life will be at Storm’s End with Robert Baratheon and his will be at the Red Keep with Elia Martell.”

Benjen had always been like that. Practical, level-headed whenever her emotions got the best of her. Unlike Brandon or Ned, Ben never felt sorry for her tears. The reason for that may have been that she was the older sibling in their relationship.

“And what would you know of love?” she asked him.

“Nothing,” he replied. “Nor will I find out. Father is planning on sending me to join the Night’s Watch. He says he needs me there.”

Lyanna was shocked to hear that. But Benjen was a third son. It was difficult to find lands and wives for third sons, even for a Stark of Winterfell. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Benjen shrugged. “It’s not like you’re falling all over yourself to tell me what it is that you are keeping from us. I know you, Lyanna. I know when you lie, and I know when things weigh on you.”

“Prince Rhaegar has only ever been Rhaegar to me,” she said. “I know Rhaegar Targaryen, the prince, but I also know Rhaegar Targaryen the man, the one who is ticklish on the left side and laughs at the silliest japes, the one who would much rather have sweets than anything that looks like a turnip. The prince wears doublets, but the man hates them. He shaved his head once to try and hide his identity, but he caught a sunburn, so he never did it again. He dyes his hair instead, but it always itches something fierce, so he hates that too.” It made her smile to think of him like this but Benjen was staring at her wide-eyed and disbelieving.

“There are those who say Prince Rhaegar doesn’t have it in him to be happy. Yet the man I know does.” She looked at her brother and shook her head. “He has a gentle heart, Rhaegar does. He is kind and an easy person to be around. And now I am hard-pressed to remember a day when I wasn’t his and he wasn’t mine. I can’t remember what it was like before he came into my life. He was this part of me that was missing, lost somewhere. Adrift even.

“Things make sense with him. He makes sense and what we have feels as old as the world itself, like some really old song. When I look at him, I see the man I love and I see goodness and I see hope and I wonder how Aerys was ever blessed with such a son. He does not deserve him.”

“What did you do, Lya?” Benjen asked her softly.

“Everyone always assumes I did something.”

“Didn’t you?”

“He kissed me at Lannisport and I told him I loved him. We married before the tourney at Storm’s End before his gods and mine. And he crowned me his queen at Harrenhal.”

Benjen gaped at her. “I . . . you are not being serious, are you? Storm’s End was well over a year ago. Why didn’t you say anything to us? We are your family . . . I . . . I don’t understand.”

“What was the harm in us being married before our betrothal was announced? We weren’t hurting anyone. We were together and we could enjoy the freedom we had for a small while before we said our vows with the realm watching. Aerys was supposed to write Father after he returned from Duskendale, but we know what happened there.”

Lyanna felt winded, exhausted. Things were never supposed to turn out this way. “Aerys and Lord Tywin and Lord Darklyn and Dorea of Dorne mucked everything up. Rhaegar wanted to come north and speak to Father himself after Aerys changed his mind. But he was never able to get away. If he had gone north Aerys would have found out and he already thought Rhaegar planned to usurp him. Lord Varys and his little birds, his spies are everywhere . . .” she whispered out of habit. “But Rhaegar has grown tired of hiding us the shadows and so have I. The time for games is done. The realm will know the truth of this soon enough.”

“Do you have any idea how mad this all sounds?”

“I know, but you asked for the truth and here it is. I love him and he loves me. Rhaegar will be on his way to Winterfell very soon and Father will know everything by the time he arrives.”

“Do you not regret this? It all sounds a proper mess.”

“Regret? I will never regret my love or my marriage. It may be rank madness, but I would do this a thousand times over. He is worth it. My only regret is that Ser Barristan decided to play heroes at Duskendale and rescued that wretched king. My regret is that Aerys did not die there. How different would our lives be? It is such a bitter draught to swallow, Brother. Aerys is a small and miserable man and I hate him.”

“How is it that no one ever found out?”

“Lord Varys was not yet in Westeros and people care to see what they wish to see. It’s something Rhaegar and I have been glad for.”

Benjen moved from his bunk to sit next to her. “I’m sorry this happened to you and him. Prince Rhaegar always seemed nice.”

“He is the kind of person anyone would be proud to know. Father would like him. But he may be too angry with us to see it.”

“At first, maybe. But Father loves no one more than he loves you,” Benjen tried to reassure her. “Does Prince Rhaegar know you were the mystery knight?”

She chuckled at the memory. “It took him all of five minutes to figure it out. He made a great show of finding my shield and getting on one knee in front of Aerys to present him with it. To survive Aerys’s court, you have to be a mummer and Rhaegar certainly put his talents to good use.” She sighed at that. “He was not pleased that I entered the lists, but he knew my reasons and understood them. He said I made him proud.”

“I never disliked Lord Robert. But when he stood and said that he would enter the lists to unmask you, I hated him,” Benjen said.

“It was he who planted that idea in Aerys’s head. He was already on edge and Robert sent him right over it. I don’t think Rhaegar will ever forgive him that.”

“I don’t think Lord Robert will ever forgive Prince Rhaegar for taking you from him.”

“I am not Lord Robert's possession to do with as he sees fit and Rhaegar took nothing from him.”

Benjen took the crown from her and looked at the roses and the string of pearls that twisted in and out. “It is a pretty crown. When did you know you loved him?”

“When I started looking forward to seeing him,” Lyanna said without hesitation. “But I understood what the feelings were when he left and I wanted to follow.”

“Does he make you happy, Prince Rhaegar?”

She nodded. How did she explain to her brother the way she felt? How did she explain getting lost in someone's eyes and that feeling of getting washed away? How did she explain that there was no better place than Rhaegar's arms or that she could see her future in him? “Very much so. It’s like this tiny seed that was planted when we met at Summerhall and it just keeps growing and growing. You know the first days of spring in the godswood when everything starts coming to life again and you just take this deep breath and you feel your chest expand and there is this feeling of contentment?”

Benjen nodded. “I guess.”

“It’s like that, but much more intense. At times, it doesn’t feel like my heart is big enough for all that, like it might burst from everything he makes me feel. I chose him and he chose me and he is who I belong with. Rhaegar is my heart and in him, I found home. There’s really no other way to explain this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Image: Mandy Ford photography


	10. Wife of Madness

“What’s it like to be in love with someone?” Rhaegar had looked up from his book, where he had been sitting on the floor. He had pushed his hair back from his face and stared at her with his big bright indigo eyes. Rhaella had smiled down at her little son and beckoned him to her, pulling him up onto her lap.

“Why do you ask?”

He had shrugged and lifted his small hands up in the air as he always did whenever he did not know the answer to a question that was posed to him. Love was complex enough for an adult and Rhaella Targaryen had no idea how to explain it to her seven year old.

“Love is a complicated feeling,” she had replied looking at him. “But if you fall in love with someone, you will just know. It will feel different from the way you love me, or the way you love your friends.” Her son had nodded sagely at that.

“Does it hurt?”

“Sometimes,” she had said. “Mostly, though, if it’s right, it’s a very happy feeling. It makes your heart feel so big. When you love someone like that, you will know it in _here."_ She had touched her hand to where his heart beat. “And when they love you back? Well the feeling becomes even bigger.”

He had put his head against her shoulder, his little fingers running over her own as though he was playing his harp. He remained silent for a beat. “Mama?”

“Yes, my love.”

“Will I be allowed to marry her?”

Rhaella felt her heart clench. “I don’t know, sweetling. Those who are born in our positions marry for duty, not passion.”

“Oh.” He had pulled away from her and looked into her eyes. “Then maybe I shouldn’t fall in love. It sounds difficult, I think, and sad if you love someone but can’t marry them.” Rhaella had wanted to weep at that. Rhaegar had gotten down from her lap and gone back to where he had been sitting on the floor, picked up his book once more.

Rhaella had gotten to her feet and gone to him. She went down to her knees in front of him, took the book from  his hands and stood him up so that they could be eye level. She brushed his hair back from his face, her fingers tucking the short strands behind his ears before she cupped both sides of his face between her hands. She stared at him for a long moment before she said anything. She remembered the day he was born and how she thought he might die as the green flames had crept closer to the bed she had given birth in. “Rhaegar, sometimes the things that are the most difficult are the ones that are worthwhile in life. Do you understand?”

He had only nodded, looking at her strangely, and Rhaella prayed he would not ask her about his father. “I love you, Mama,” he had only said, making her heart swell with joy. Rhaella had not known what unconditional love was until she had held him in her arms the first time. “And I love you, my sweet boy.”

Rhaegar, it turned out had a very long memory. And he had come to her the morning following his return from the tourney at Lannisport and asked her if she would summon Lord Stark’s little daughter to the Red Keep to attend her. Rhaella had looked at him questioningly, but had written the Lord of Winterfell and his daughter had arrived one snowy morning astride her horse, wearing breeches. Rhaella had been standing on the stoop with her son, curious to see Lord Rickard and Lady Lyarra’s only daughter. The girl had dismounted from her horse and curtsied prettily for them.

She was quite beautiful, this daughter of Winterfell, Rhaella had assessed. Her face was open, like someone who had nothing to hide. She had bitten her lower lip as she smiled at her son. Beside her, Rhaegar had shaken his head and smiled so bright, Rhaella felt her heart stutter.

So there was a girl after all, she had finally acknowledged after months and months of denial.

Before Lyanna Stark had come to live at the Red Keep, Rhaegar was gone more often than not from King’s Landing and every time he left, he stayed away longer and longer. Rhaella had wondered if there had been a girl somewhere. But Rhaegar had never been like that, chasing after girls.

He had not been blind to their charms, but his attention span had always been shorter than short, and none of the ladies ever seemed to hold his attention long enough for anything to happen. Rhaella always concluded that Rhaegar knew he would have to marry for duty, so he had hardened his heart and given things no further thought. Her son had always been pragmatic and practical. It may not have been worth the heartache for him.

With that in mind, Rhaella had chalked up his numerous travels to his tireless search for books he had not yet read, always in the hopes that he would find the answers he was seeking. She figured that if he wanted to speak to her, he would find her as he always had.

He had not come to her, though.

Rhaegar had not come to her when he came back from Summerhall and she overheard Arthur Dayne tease him after he had taken a sound beating in the yard for being distracted.

He had not come to her when he took a sudden liking to the Rainwood and began traveling there every chance he got.

And Rhaella had not asked him where the ribbon he wore about his wrist had come from, whenever she saw him reach under his long sleeve and touch his fingers to it with the faintest of smiles, as though he was recalling some cherished memory.

Many times she had come close to asking him. She never did.

 _How typical of me,_ she reflected, _refusing to see or acknowledge, always afraid._

Her son had changed, she had realized too late. Rhaella had not wanted to see until she no longer had the choice.

Rhaegar had always been filled with melancholy. He had always carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, from the moment he was old enough to understand what the word destiny meant. His smiles were far and few in between.

Born amidst salt and smoke, brought forth into the world in fire and blood. A true dragon if there ever was one.

Then she came along, Lyanna Stark, and changed everything.

 _“What’s it like to be in love with someone?”_ Rhaegar had asked her all those years ago, she recalled, rolling and unrolling the letter that had come by raven from Harrenhal, bearing the news of her son’s win and his choice of queen of love and beauty. 

It seemed like only yesterday when Rhaegar used to tuck his small hand into hers and smile up at her. Then one day, that hand had no longer been so small and it had slipped out of hers, and Rhaella could not for the life of her recall when that had happened. Was it when she had been grieving for one of her lost babes? Or was it when she had told him of the circumstances of his birth?

Her little boy was gone. There was no trace of him left.

One morning she had risen and her son had somehow become more beautiful than he ever was. He had grown taller and his voice had become deeper and he could grow a beard if he had wanted to. The women around the keep sighed when he walked past them, but he still carried his melancholy like a shield. All of that had left Rhaella bewildered and sad.

Rhaegar had grown up far too quickly, become a man too fast.

Some things had not changed, though. He worked hard still and trained hard still.

But some things had changed. He loved harder now.

He loved like there was nothing in the world that mattered. And nothing in the world mattered when _she_ stepped into the room.

Rhaegar loved his Lady Lyanna. And his lady adored him.

“I want it all, Mother,” he had told her on the morning he announced he had wedded and bedded his lady. She had stood beside him, in a dress of red silks and white samite, looking beautiful. He had her hand clasped into his. “I love her and I want her. I want our love and I want our fights and I want our silly laughs. We are bound for life now.”

Rhaella had not liked that they had married, though she understood the reasoning behind it. Peace and quiet and privacy before the scrutiny began.

All the same, Rhaella found herself sewing the Targaryen cloak Rhaegar had put about Lyanna’s shoulders when he married her under the one that bore the direwolf of Stark, so that she may wear his colors and his sigil with none being the wiser. And while she did that, she daydreamed of the grandchildren they would give her. Silver-haired and grey-eyed, dark-haired and purple-eyed. She thought of the pitter patter of small feet and laughter bouncing off the walls of the old keeps.

Rhaella had grown fond of Lyanna Stark. She was a different sort of lady altogether. She loved physical activity better than mindless chatter. She enjoyed climbing trees and watch the world go by from up high. She loved riding her horse. She was not scared of getting her hands or her clothes dirty. She could run and fight as well as any boys Rhaella had ever seen.

Rhaella loved the girl’s compassion and unassuming personality. And she was good for her son and so good to him.

Lyanna loved Rhaegar for Rhaegar. She loved him not for his titles or his holdings. Instead, she loved him for all that he was. She patiently coaxed him out of his melancholy when he fell deep into it, loving him out of it. She loved him when he overachieved and she loved him when he fell short.

How could Rhaella not grow fond of the girl when she saw how happy she made her son? How could she not approve of their early marriage when she saw two people blossom and grow into it? Rhaegar and his little wife were one in every sense of the word. They were two halves of a whole. And that was never truer than when she watched them discuss that wretched prophecy.

“Why did Aegon and his sisters conquer the Seven Kingdoms?” she had asked him one day after they had been on Dragonstone for a moon’s turn. They both sat on the sofa in Rhaella’s solar, a small tower of books between them. “They had this island and they could have lived anywhere they pleased without having to conquer.”

“They conquered because of the prophecy,” Rhaegar had replied. “Daenys the Dreamer dreamed that a great threat would would come from beyond the Wall. She dreamed of darkness gathering, that the world would be plunged into the night that never ends. And since my forebears left Valyria because she foresaw the Doom, Aegon and his sister thought she may be right in this as well. They realized that a unified kingdom had a better chance at surviving than several little kingdoms that were constantly warring.”

She had looked at him thoughtfully. “Do you know why Torrhen Stark bent his knee to Aegon?”

“He knew what had happened at the Field of Fire and was not eager to see it up close?” Rhaegar had given her an odd look.

“That is true enough,” Lyanna had replied. “But it’s not all of it. His bastard brother, Brandon Snow, was ready to go into the Targaryen camp and slay the dragons.”

Rhaegar had been taken aback by that. “And how was this mighty warrior going to accomplish that? He would have been turned to ash in the blink of an eye.”

“Weirwood arrows. It is said that mighty warrior was a splendid archer. But that’s not the story. King Torrhen bid him stand down. The north has its own prophecies, though they are lost to time now. Be that as it may, you do not raise a seven hundred foot wall of ice and protect it with ancient spells and sorcery to keep men from raiding into the kingdoms. The wildlings are the blood of the First Men, same as me, and they worship the old gods, same as the Starks. I should think that the Wall was not built to keep men out. Torrhen Stark did not think so either. It is said he read something in some old scroll that haunted him. The Others were never gone and the time would come when they returned. He saw dragons and he thought they could be the answer to this conundrum.”

Rhaegar had inhaled a sharp breath and gave her a bewildered look. “Why didn’t you say anything before?”

“Because it sounds mad.”

“Darling, all of this sounds like rank madness. Creatures of ice and raising the dead, flaming swords and a hero reborn to lead the fight. No one would ever believe such a thing. The Others are the stories children are told to scare them into bed. Yet here we are, you and I scouring books and searching for answers so that we may be prepared for what’s coming.”

 _Meant to be,_ was all Rhaella could think in that moment.

Long ago, Rhaella’s grandsire had wanted to marry her to the heir to Winterfell. Aegon had loved the north and its people. He had called them hard, but loyal and had felt it was time for that kingdom to come out of its isolation for its own sake. Rhaella would have done as she was bid. She was nothing if not dutiful, but she had been reluctant at the idea of going to that cold and harsh place. But her grandfather had reassured her that Winterfell was anything but cold and that the northmen would love her as much as he did.

She would never know what her life might have been like had she married Rickard Stark. Would he have smiled at her the way he had smiled at his lady wife? Or would he have hated her as Aerys did?

Then Jenny of Oldstones had come to court with her woods witch albino friend and Rhaella’s life had been thrown into chaos. Before the ravens flew with a proposal, her lord father had decided that her life would be even more tied to a brother she had disliked if not despised at times. Her father who was supposed to protect her had given her to Aerys to fulfill the prophecy and bring Rhaegar into the world.

She hated the prophecy and all that it had entailed. But she loved her son more than anything.

 _Maybe this is the way things were meant to happen,_ Rhaella had reflected looking at Lyanna as she burrowed into Rhaegar’s side and then looked up at him with a dazzling smile when he wrapped an arm around her and kissed the side of her head.

Rhaella sighed and looked at Aerys who had been pacing the length of her bedchamber. He had not stopped since he had stormed in, unannounced. She knew outside her door, Ser Gerold and Ser Barristan were standing sentinel, overhearing every single word her husband was saying.

 _I hate you! I curse you!_ she wanted to scream at him. _Get out of my rooms, get out of my sight, get out of my life. Get out of our son’s life!_

If he knew she had named him her king, he would burn her where she stood.

 _“Your son!”_ he yelled at her his voice reaching a hysterical crescendo. “Your son!” he repeated once more. He looked a decade older than when he had left the Red Keep for the tourney. _Why didn’t you die on the road? Die, damn you! Die, so that we may all be happy!_

“Rhaegar?” Rhaella said standing from her seat.  

“Aye, who else but the faithless one?” Aerys asked, staring her down.

“He is your son as much as he is mine. I did not make him on my own,” she replied.

“What do you think the Dornish will do now, hmm? Do you think they will take the slight lightly?”

 _The Dornish can take this however they wish to take this._ Rhaella had not been consulted on her son’s marriage by her husband nor had she been consulted on it by the Princess of Dorne, someone she had once considered a friend. She had found out only after Aerys had sold her child to Dorne for petty vengeance.

“Rhaegar did not want the betrothal and he does not want the marriage. He told you repeatedly. Why should his actions surprise you at all?" Rhaella asked.

“I know what he is doing. He is trying to force my hand. If the Dornish rescind the betrothal . . . that she-wolf ensnared him and she guards her cunt like she buried gold into it.”

Rhaella’s ears buzzed. She felt enraged at his talk, yet relieved that he seemed clueless as to what the truth was. “Why? Why would you not acquiesce to this match, Aerys? The girl is no commoner. She is the daughter of the Warden of the North. Her blood is older than Valyria. You were happy with the idea. What changed that you would you do such a thing to him? Why would you treat him like this? Why? I want to know, Aerys.”

“You will lower _your voice_ when you speak to me, woman! I am _your king_ and you will use a respectful tone or I will beat you within an inch of your life. And my reasons are no concern of yours.”

Rhaella said nothing. She lowered her eyes and started counting the threads in the Myrish carpet. His reasons may not be her concern, but they always circled back to Tywin Lannister.

“And where is he, Rhaegar now? Where has he vanished to? I know he has not gone to Dragonstone.”

“Summerhall, I imagine,” Rhaella blurted out, though she thought he might be headed north, to Winterfell with Lyanna Stark. Ser Arthur and Ser Oswell had both returned with the king’s party. It was easy to believe he would have gone to Summerhall since they never attended him there.

“I should have what remains of it taken apart brick by brick, razed and salted. Better yet, I should bury him beneath it since he loves it so much.”

“What an awful thing to say of your son. Your own flesh and blood. Do you hate him so much?”

“Your son means to take my throne!” he screamed at her. “Lord Varys said that Harrenhal was a ploy to advance his agenda and usurp me. But _I showed him!_ He thinks me too weak to fight back. At Duskendale, Tywin said that if I died behind those walls, that they already had a king and he would be better than me. They have been plotting against me ever since. I will make certain I outlive him. He will never sit the throne.”

“That was Tywin. Not Rhaegar. Rhaegar was beside himself with worry while you were being held behind those walls. He bears you no ill will.”

“Doesn’t he?”

“He doesn’t. Rhaegar wants to be left in peace. He wants his lady and he wants to be left alone. That is what he desires most,” she tried to reason. But she knew Aerys was beyond that. She had been half-surprised to not see the eunuch standing beside him, at his ear, whispering and spinning his web.

Her son had been the target since Lord Varys had come to King’s Landing. Rhaella had often wondered if Rhaegar would have been able to keep his marriage a secret if the Spider had been in Westeros when the event had taken place. Even now, she found it surprising that the truth had not come out. She wondered if the eunuch knew and was biding his time or if he was ignorant of it altogether.

All the more reason for Rhaegar to meet Lord Stark and clear the air, Rhaella reflected. He would need the north and Lord Stark’s influence if he ever hoped to call a Great Council and become his father’s regent.

“Pray tell me, wife, does your _precious_ Rhaegar deserve more than me?”

“You are his father, you should want more for him. You should want him happy. Does it please you to see him cloaked in melancholy and burden?” Rhaella asked hotly. “All his days, he never asked for a single thing of you. He always did as he was bid and he always did it well. He did his duty, but the one time he asked you, his father, for something . . .”

“Ah, yes! Rhaegar _does_ deserve everything good in the world, doesn’t he?” Aerys asked sarcastically. “Well I deserved better too and I was denied. Life is filled with disappointments. When Father bid me marry you, I did my duty, even though I loved Joanna.”

Rhaella looked at him wide-eyed and baffled. _Is that what this is about,_ she wanted to ask him. _You could not have her, so you deny Rhaegar who he loves?_ “Joanna Lannister was promised elsewhere. She had been before you ever laid eyes on her.”

“Well Rhaegar is promised elsewhere and so is she. The girl is a beauty with those eyes and that creamy skin and those firm small breasts that look like ripe fruit. Our cousin Robert is a very lucky man. I think I will go to Storm's End for the wedding and bear witness to the bedding. I should take Rhaegar with me. I have half a mind of give Lord Robert and your son positions on the Small Council. The Stark girl can remain here and attend you, and Rhaegar can watch her belly swell with someone else’s babes. Little stags.” He chuckled. “He will watch and he will never touch because you have raised an honorable prince.”

_Look at you, so pleased with yourself, you vile little man. Lyanna Stark will never bear Robert Baratheon’s children._

“I was saddled with you," he accused her. "I was saddled with your cold hands and your cold lips and your frozen cunt and your broken womb. Rhaegar can be saddled with the Martell girl. He will do his duty as I have. Why should he be allowed to be happy when I was not given that courtesy by our lord father? He will marry her, he will bed her, he will get her with child and keep his _ungrateful mouth_ shut.”

“If you believe that Rhaegar will do any of this, then you never knew your son at all.”

That had been the wrong thing to say. The words had crossed her lips before she could stop them and she felt horror wash over her when she realized she had painted an even bigger target on her son’s back.

Aerys gave her a look filled with scorn before he turned away from her and left her chambers.


	11. Confrontation

Not an hour since she had returned to Winterfell and he felt as though a storm was about to be unleashed.

It was the way Lyanna was looking at him that had Rickard Stark wary unto death. He had been confused by her sudden return home. Lyanna was supposed to go to King’s Landing, he recalled, and resume her service with the queen. Yet here she was, sitting in his solar, across from him, her hands folded together in her lap.

Rickard Stark’s upbringing had prepared him to deal with matters small and big. As the Lord of Winterfell and the Warden of the North, he had to deal with lords and smallfolk alike. He had to resolve disputes and make decisions that could not only affect the north, but the realm at large. He did his duty and he did it well.

Yet he realized once more how ill-equipped he was whenever the time came to deal with his daughter. He loved her but she disconcerted him more often than not.

Lyanna had been a precocious child. She had taken her first steps and said her first words ahead of any of her brothers. She had a head for sums unlike her brothers and she knew how to run a household by the time she was ten.

She was too clever by half and had a sense of repartee that had always left him lagging behind. He could barely  keep up with her when she was seven. He had given up on trying after that. The moment she could walk, she started running and soon after she was on a pony trotting in the yard and before long she was on a horse, galloping away from Winterfell. And him.

For all that she had been born a moon’s turn too early and under the most dire of circumstances. One could never tell, though, Lyanna was so vibrant with life and so energetic.

More often than not, the frantic search for his wife seemed like a some very far away dream and something that had happened to another. They searched a day and night before they had finally found her, bloodied and weak and exhausted, huddled inside a broken tower not a mile from Winterfell, the cold winds howling all around her and the snow falling so much it was difficult to see anything at all. When they found her, she had the tiniest babe in her arms. She had been so cold, Lyanna had been. Maester Walys called it a miracle that she had survived at all.

Rickard had loved his little daughter. No one made him smile as she did or made him as happy as she did. Sons were sons. But daughters were _so differen_ _t_ and Lyanna had him wrapped around her little finger. She knew when to smile sweetly and she knew when to use her tears. She called him ‘papa’ when she wanted to make sure she had her way. He had doted on her. They all had.

But as much as he gave her, he also took from her. Lyanna could not carry on with wooden swords and breeches. She was girl and a little lady, which she did not especially care for. His lady wife had been displeased with him, told him to mind himself. Lyanna would eventually come around because she understood what was expected of her. _Let her enjoy the things she enjoys,_ his wife had said. _She excels at everything she sets her mind to and she will come around. And when she does, she will be as good a lady as any._

The more he forbade Lyanna the things she enjoyed, the more willful she became, the more she stood her ground. Every restriction he set, she rebelled against. It was like living through a small scale civil war with him on one side and his daughter on the other.

He should have listened but he thought he knew better.

Years later, he was still unsure how to deal with his daughter.

Standing at his shoulder, Maester Walys seemed as confused by Lyanna’s return to Winterfell as he was.

Lyanna had never been the predictable sort. She always had her own mind and always marched to the tune of her own fife. She had never been one to follow what others expected of her.

He studied her, this daughter he had sent away from home. The girl she was had melted away, making way to a lovely young woman, Rickard realized once more. It made him proud and broke his heart all at once.

 _Prince Rhaegar Targaryen’s queen of love and beauty,_ Rickard thought, feeling the tension gather between his eyes.

 _Why now,_ he kept asking himself since the news had reached Winterfell. He did not understand this sudden turn. Prince Rhaegar had been around Lyanna for longer than four years. As far as Rickard was concerned the man had had every chance to make his intentions known. But that ship had sailed once he became betrothed to Elia of Dorne. And Lyanna was now promised to his cousin of all people.

Rickard remembered Prince Rhaegar as a small boy, all but six years to his name and too solemn by half. His brightest smile had been reserved for Lyarra when she had sat beside him in the grass and produced a book for him.

He also remembered their second meeting at Castle Black. Prince Rhaegar had been courteous as was expected of him, but there had not been much more than that in way of interaction. He had given Lyanna a suspicious look and had kept well away from her until they had both ended at the top of the Wall, looking down at the haunted forest. Even then, the prince had not said a word, but had quirked a small smile when Lyanna said that she would one day run away and live in the Frostfangs. The remark had seemed to amuse him. “Your daughter seems very sad,” he had said after Rickard had sent Lyanna back to Winterfell.

“Her mother passed,” Rickard had replied surprised. The prince was more observant than he let on, he had realized. “I promised to bring her here sometime ago. It felt like the right time to make good on my word.”

“I am sorry for your loss, my lord. I remember your lady wife still. From your visit to King’s Landing.”

“You were very young, Your Grace.”

“The lady put a book in my hands when everyone was pressing wooden swords and live steel into them.”

“It was her notion that you should have something you truly enjoyed. I recall her telling Your Grace that minds have to be as sharp as swords.”

“Words to live by. Her gift was not only kind, but also thoughtful. How can I forget her after that?” Prince Rhaegar had nodded as he took his leave and Rickard had not seen much him after that. Maester Aemon had explained that his nephew was down in the vaults, looking at rare books and ancient scrolls.

Rickard had not given Prince Rhaegar much thought after he had returned to Winterfell. Then one day, a raven had come from Amberly, with the news that the prince had taken to visiting the keep unannounced and staying there for long periods of time. His cousin, the Lady Branda, had been adamant that the reason for his visits were Lyanna and Rickard had found himself hoping.

He had stopped considering the marriage proposals that came for his daughter thereafter, declining every single one. And there had been quite a few of them. And not just the ones that had come from some of his lords bannermen. There had been offers from all corners of Westeros, much to his surprise.

It was the raven that had come from Queen Rhaella requesting Lyanna’s presence in King’s Landing that had really made Rickard believe that there was interest in his daughter. He thought they would begin working toward a proposal sooner rather than later. Maester Walys had encouraged him to make overtures of his own toward King Aerys, so Rickard had penned a letter.

He received no reply to his inquiry.

Ravens became lost all the time, he had reasoned, though it had not sat right with him. Tywin Lannister was the Hand of the King and messages like the one Rickard had sent would have come across his desk even if it had been marked for His Grace. “It is no secret that Lord Tywin has wanted to betroth his daughter to Prince Rhaegar for years now,” Maester Walys had said to him. “I know the man only by reputation, I will grant you, but I know the Grand Maester. And well, there is a lot to be said about his own preferences. Pycelle was always more loyal to the lion than the dragon.”

Maester Walys may have known Tywin Lannister by reputation only, but Rickard had met the man a couple of times. And if he put it in his head that his daughter shall be queen, then he would make sure to see his plans to fruition.

But if Prince Rhaegar had taken interest in Lyanna, then Rickard figured he had already won half that battle.

He was at White Harbor waiting to take a ship for King’s Landing to see to matters himself, but before he had set foot on the gangplank, news had come that King Aerys had been made prisoner at Duskendale. Rickard had remained at White Harbor for the duration of the king’s captivity. It was a cautious choice. He could easily travel from White Harbor to Duskendale by ship if he had need to.

And while he waited for news of Aerys, Rickard had grown hopeful for the realm.

Prince Rhaegar saw to the affairs of the kingdom while his father was imprisoned. At Eight-and-ten, Rhaegar Targaryen had already proved himself to be a very capable ruler. In the midst of a crisis no less. A trial by fire if there ever was one. And he had passed with flying colors. It was reassuring to know that the realm would be in good hands once the prince ascended the Conqueror’s throne.

When the time had come for him to finally make his way to King’s Landing, a raven had come announcing the prince’s betrothal to Elia Martell. That had been a blow Rickard Stark had swallowed with a lot of difficulty.

Robert Baratheon may not have been Rhaegar Targaryen, but Ned had vouched for him, promising that his friend would walk a straighter path once he was betrothed to Lyanna. And for all that, the lords and the smallfolk in the stormlands knew Lyanna and they liked her. He was not sending her somewhere she did not know and he was not surrounding her with people who did not care for her, he told himself over and over.

But Lyanna had not liked that at all. And Lyanna sitting across from him silently made him nervous.

He never knew what kind of storm was brewing under those silences. And he never knew where to start with her. He wished her mother was still alive. Surely, Lyarra would have known how to handle whatever Lyanna was going to throw at him. But she was dead and there was just him. He sighed inwardly. _Gods help me,_ he thought.

“How was the tourney, my lady?” Maester Walys asked breaking the silence.

“Lord Leyton was unhorsed by Jason Mallister,” she said.

“Gods be good! Leyton is nearing his forties. He should leave the sport to his sons,” the maester replied. “And my uncle?”

“Ser Gerold stayed well out of the lists, Maester.”

“He’s not such a fool as my cousin. The talk is that you took part in the horse race and nearly won?”

She nodded slowly. “Domeric Bolton beat me by less than a hair, but it was great fun.”

Silence fell. Maester Walys began to fidget with the sleeve of his grey robes and Lyanna looked down at her clasped hands. “Papa.” She gazed up at him and Rickard felt the hairs of his arm stand.

“What did you do, Lyanna?” he asked her brusquely. She was trying to soften him before she inevitably said something he did not want to hear.

“Prince Rhaegar . . .”

“Foolish girl, do not tell me you have lain with him!” He got ahead of whatever it was she was going to say. And why wouldn’t he think the worst had happened? Why else would he give her a crown of roses? Aegon the Unworthy wanted to name his mistress his queen of love and beauty too.

_What else could it be? Is a crown of winter roses meant to be the price for this dishonor?_

And he could see her doing something like this just to get out from marrying Lord Robert. But Lord Robert would take her anyway he could get her, that much Rickard was certain of.

She stared at him, not saying anything.

There always were these tells with Lyanna, whenever he confronted her with something she had done. It was the way she had tensed and the way she had clutched at the arms of the chair, her knuckles turning bone-white when he leveled the accusation at her that told him all that he needed to know. He did not know where to look, but he knew he did not want to look at her.

“My lord, you ought to let her speak,” Maester Walys said.

“I know my daughter, Maester,” he retorted. “Wolf-blooded as she is. She excels at taking her childish disappointments to extremes.”

Rickard Stark questioned more than once his decision to send Lyanna away. She had needed to be away from Winterfell. She had taken her mother’s passing with great difficulty and her grief had taken its toll on her. The nightmares she had of doom had not helped any of that. When it came to her, he was out of his depth. He did not know how to raise her, did not want her to be raised by Old Nan, old as she already was. He wanted a good female influence in her life, and Branda was as close as Lyanna could have had to her own mother.

He wished he had not sent her away at all now.

“Have you nothing to say for yourself?” he asked her. He tried to keep his voice even, but he was growing angry by the second.

“You wish me to dignify your accusations with an answer?”

“Lord Robert is a great lord, my lady,” Maester Walys tried to placate.

Lyanna chuckled bitterly at that. “He won't care, is what you mean, is it? No, Maester, Lord Robert is no great lord.” She looked at the grey man. “Lord Steffon was a great lord and his father before him was a great lord, the Laughing Storm was a great lord until he decided to rise in rebellion against King Aegon and name himself Storm King because his little feelings were hurt. Lord Robert has done nothing that makes him a great lord. You ought to know that. Maesters pen history. Lord Robert still lives at the Vale of Arryn. He is not the one running his keep or his lands. Thankfully, he has capable people doing that in his stead. People that his lord father left in place before he drowned.”

“This conversation is not about Lord Robert. Is the prince so lost to honor that he would bed a highborn lady?” Rickard demanded to know, his voice rising. “Are the brothels of King’s Landing not enough for him?”

Lyanna’s nostrils flared and she scowled at him. “Honor, my lord? You want to wed me to a man who has precious little of it. Your Lord Robert tried to molest me in a room full of people while we danced and I don’t know that he would not have been successful had Ser Arthur Dayne not come to my rescue. That is not counting how often he was in his cups and all the rumored wenches he fucked in the ten days that we were all present at Harrenhal. I should not think this is honor. He is repulsive.” She looked at Maester Walys. “This is the Robert Baratheon I have come to know, Maester. Aye, a great lord he is,” she said with a voice filled with scorn.

“You will watch your tongue and your tone when you speak, or so help me. I sent you to Amberly a girl and a harlot is returned to me? A dragon’s whore. Is this the way of it?” He regretted the words as soon as they had crossed his lips.

“My lord . . .” Maester Walys tried to intercede.

But Lyanna was having none of that. “Is that what you think of me, my lord?” she stood abruptly, pushing her seat an inch behind. “And Rhaegar does not frequent brothels!”

“My lady . . .” The maester tried again but to no avail.

Rickard felt his ire rise. “Well that makes everything so much better! You have taken your rebellions too far this time.” He stood as well. “You are not a child, Lyanna! Every action has consequences. You will be seven-and-ten in a fortnight. Did you bed down with Rhaegar Targaryen as an act of defiance against your betrothal to Lord Robert, is that it?”

“Brandon bedded Barbrey Ryswell, the daughter of one of your lords bannermen, yet I don’t hear you yelling at him for it. What of her honor? He bedded Ser Arthur’s sister during the tourney. The only reason he lives is because Rhaegar bid Ser Aethan stand down for my sake. If he hadn’t you would be short an heir. Yet, I am the harlot?”

Her face was red with anger and her eyes were blazing. “The only thing this dragon’s whore is guilty of is bedding down with her husband,” she said, recovering her calm. “And I enjoyed _every second_ of it!” She sat back down slowly, her eyes never wavering from his. She smoothed her wool dress down and clasped her hands together once more.

Rickard had not expected that. He was confused by this turn of event. He did not want to sit back down and he did not want to remain standing. What he really wanted to do was flee his solar. Daughters were not supposed to say such things or speak such words.

“You and the prince are bound, my lady?” Maester Walys whispered.

“For life,” Lyanna said. “The marriage is a valid one.”

“A valid marriage? And pray, when did this valid marriage happen? After he took your maidenhead?”

“We were wed before what happened at Duskendale, my lord. It was done in the sight of the old gods and in the light of the Seven. And no, he did not bed me before he married me, if you are implying that this marriage came about to repair some dishonor that was done me.”

Rickard sat back down. His head was pounding. His daughter had been married much longer than a year, he kept thinking.

Lyanna lived a whole life none of them knew of. Not him, not his sons, not her aunt. That saddened him in a way he did not how to express. And when he looked at her, all he saw was a stranger.

He did not know if he should send her away like a chastened child to her rooms or listen to her. Rickard Stark was the blood of the First Men, he must always listen first, judge after. He did not think he had in him to do that now. “And where did this wedding take place?” he inquired.

“Rhaegar took me to the Isle of Faces. It is the only place in the south that still has weirwood that’s not behind the walls of castles. Lord Whent’s septon officiated the ceremony.”

“And who knows of this?”

“The people that are closest to Rhaegar. Ser Arthur and Ser Oswell and Jon Connington were witnesses. Her Grace, Queen Rhaella was told after the deed was done.”

“And none of your family?” he asked. That hurt a lot.

“Does it matter?” she replied.

“Doesn’t it? I am your father. I am supposed to give you away.”

Rickard saw Lyanna’s lower lip quiver. “This is not about you," she said coldly. "It is not about you, or about Aerys. I love him. And he loves me. That is why we married. This was about what we both wanted. This is the unvarnished truth. Nothing else matters.”

He could see right through her. She was telling the truth, he was certain of that much, but she had chosen to leave out any other explanation that may have satisfied him. She was not going to tell him anything else after the things he had said to her. She did not care whether he understood or not.

“Everything else matters! He is the crown prince!” he slammed a closed hand on his desk.

“I thank you for clarifying that, my lord. It matters not to me. I love him for him, not for his crown.”

“Is your head so filled with songs and Old Nan’s stories that you do not see? This is the real world, Lyanna! Prince Rhaegar will be king someday and this marriage may alienate both Dorne and the stormlands.”

"And that still leaves five kingdoms," she replied. 

Rickard sighed defeated. “Why didn’t you say anything when you were here last? If there ever was a time for the truth, it was then.”

“You did not think to wait and consult me on the betrothal. You did not think to consult me on the future you had chosen for me. You took my life and did with it as you _damn well pleased._ By the time I arrived at Winterfell, the ravens had already flown with the news that I would be marrying Lord Robert. The harm was done already. You discarded me like I was nothing to you.”

“Is this what you think? That I discarded you?” he asked her shocked. “You always knew you would have to marry, Lyanna. No one ever kept that truth from you. I refused every offer that came for you on the off chance that His Grace would want to make a match between you and his son. I could not very well keep saying no after Prince Rhaegar was given away to Dorne.”

“He isn’t a pair of shoes to be given away at will and neither am I.” Lyanna protested vehemently.

“I have heard enough out of you, Lyanna. Go.”

She did not even look at him when she left his solar. The maester took a seat across from him. They stared at each other. “I have lost my daughter, Maester.”

“You have not lost her, my lord. Lady Lyanna has always been headstrong, but her heart has always been good. I don’t think she took pleasure in any of this.”

Headstrong and infuriating and so confident in everything. Lyanna had been his most precious little daughter from the moment he had held her.

“In all my years, I never heard anything ill said of the prince. With Lady Lyanna wedded to him, the north will have no need to look for swords when the time comes, nor for food,” the maester was saying.

That was true enough. Lyanna would never abandon the north or Winterfell. For all her living in the south, she was still very much a northern at heart and a Stark. She would always be a Stark, no matter the husband she had. She may hate him, but she loved her brothers.

“There could be war over this,” he said. “The Targaryens have encountered trouble with the Houses they slighted in the past.”

“There could be war now, my lord. We know King Aerys is not sound of mind. He was already declining before Duskendale. The prince is an intelligent man and is already looking to the future if the rumors about Harrenhal hold any truth. And he is well-loved. His lord father’s small council seems to be the exception to that. If it came to war, he would have more people standing with him than against him. All he needs do is become regent and rule in his father’s name. It does not need to come to war.”

“I agree. Yet war is always the easiest answer for some men.”

“Lady Lyanna will be queen someday. Isn’t this a good thing? She has no love for Robert Baratheon and if what she says is true, I don't think the prince holds his cousin in high regard either." 

 _No, she has no love for Lord Robert._ _That had been a mistake,_ Rickard was coming to a slow realization. “I should not have betroth her to him. There were other men, worthier than him and worthy of her that I could have promised Lyanna to. Lord Arryn’s nephew comes to mind. I should have consulted her. But Ned has known him for so long. He is blinded by his love for the man.”

If he had waited for her, if he had told her, if he had listened to her, asked her what she wanted. Maybe she would have felt safe enough to tell him the truth. And they would not have Lord Robert to deal with. He remembered the look on her face when he had spoken of his plans for her. She had looked at him as though he had betrayed the bond they shared. Perhaps he had. Wherever his late wife was, he thought she would be displeased with him.

“I will have to pen a letter to Lord Robert to break this engagement once I have spoken to the prince,” he said. This could not be avoided. “Gods be good. I remember the days when Lyanna used to sit on my knee at this very desk with the seal in one hand, waiting to press it down to letters or decrees and would ask me to tell her stories of her grandsire, the Wandering Wolf, and his travels to Essos and his time with the Second Sons. There never was a prettier, more precious girl than her, with those toothless smiles and brilliant laughing eyes. What happened to my little girl, Walys?”

The Maester sighed and Rickard thought he was recalling all the skinned knees and bruises Lyanna used to collect and the number of times she had limped into his turret. “She grew up, my lord.”


	12. Winter town

 

Five days gone by and Lyanna still felt jarred and not herself. As far as conversations went, that one had gone downhill so quickly, Lyanna had not known how to react or how to salvage it. So she did not try.

She and her lord father, _no, Lord Stark,_ she reminded herself, had not spoken since.

Lyanna spent her mornings in the maester’s turret, looking through the bronze Myrish lens tube and making notes or dividing herbs into batches to be steeped. “You ought to make an effort, child,” the maester said from where he had been standing, searching for a parchment with some notes he had made. Lyanna never understood how men of learning and healing such as he could be so untidy. She did not think half the maesters at the Citadel would be able to earn a chain for tidiness if it came to it. 

“No,” she replied. “I’ll not make an effort.”

The maester lifted his head and looked at her, seemingly trying to decide whether he should persist with the conversation or drop it and Lyanna felt a wave of dismay crash over her when he shuffled over to her and pulled the bench. He gestured her to sit and Lyanna sighed and she did as she was bid. 

“Your lord father loves you, Lyanna. He loves you very much,” he said taking his seat across from her.

“My lord father loves my brothers very much so. I don’t think he’s ever loved me all that much. He might have if I had been that proper lady he always wanted me to be, or born with the right body parts.”

“I have been in this castle a little longer than you have been alive. I was sent here in my twenty-second year. It was in the first year of King Aerys’s reign as I recall. Winterfell seemed a world away for a boy who had lived most of his life in the shadow of the Hightower. Your grandfather still lived in those days and he ruled this castle and the north. You might say that your lord father and I continued our education together, he as lord and me as maester. I have known him a long time and he _does not_ love you less than he loves your brothers or more than he loves them, contrary to what any of them may think.”

Lyanna considered him for a moment. “My lady mother loved me,” she said. “I may not remember much of her, but I remember how much she loved me. My lady mother would never have said those things to me. She would have sat me down and listened because that’s what she always did.”

Maester Walys nodded in agreement. “She would have. You have much of her in you. You have her looks and her willfulness and her quick mind. There was nothing Lady Lyarra did not undertake with energy and gusto. She had joy for life and enthusiasm for most everything.”

“Even sewing?”

“No. That was a trial, but she had to do it, so she did it,” the maester replied with a chuckle.

“Lady Lyarra dreamt of adventure, just like you. She got that from her lord father. It was in her blood. At times, when he looks at you, he sees her, I think. I know there are times when I do. It’s the way you gesture with your hands, or the way you frown when you’re working out a problem, or how you smile or laugh. You are your mother’s daughter, but you are also your father’s daughter. You have his sense of justice and honor and duty and you say things out of anger like he does at times, things you both regret instantly. He regrets the words he used. Very much. They were uncalled for and he should have listened before he cast judgement. He owed you that much, he knows that. But child, he is your father and you owe him courtesy and respect.”

Lyanna sighed. “This is not how I imagined I would start married life. I thought that if I was going to be forced into marrying someone I did not want, at least I would have my lord father and my brothers and my Flint and Locke kin and half the north besides to see me off. And when Rhaegar and I married, I still thought my lord father would be giving me away because there would have been a wedding at the Great Sept of Baelor before the entire realm. Rhaegar and I thought we would come to Winterfell and marry in the godswood first because this is where almost every Stark married for eight thousand years.”

 _I should have spoken to Walys first,_ she chastised herself as she looked at his round face. He had always been kind to her and he made up for her lord father’s lack of patience with her. If she had spoken to him first, he would have been able to smooth things over before she finally went to Lord Rickard.

“What was the Isle of Faces like?”

Lyanna smiled at that. “Beautiful and so quiet. It is a world apart, Maester. The old gods are there, though, I could feel their power and their pull. I think I heard my name called when the leaves rustled. Rhaegar swore he heard his name as well. We wanted to stay longer, but we could not. He promised we would go back, seek the green men out someday. We married in front of a weirwood with a smiling face.”

“How does Prince Rhaegar treat you?” he asked her.

“He treats me as his equal. He wants to know what I think. My voice matters to him, Maester. He never talks at me or talks down to me. He never makes me feel small. I never felt more appreciated or more useful or more free than when we were on Dragonstone. He gave me free reins to run his keep, he opened the ledgers to me because I am good with numbers. He took me down to the harbor to inventory the ships that came into port. He asked me to sit with him when he heard petitions. We work well together and we work efficiently.” It often felt like they had been doing this for years and years so good they were together.

“For a long time, I thought I would have to marry someone I did not want to marry, be made to have children I did not want to have. When I expected it the least, Rhaegar came into my life and I began to allow myself to think of what ifs and dream of what could be and think that there could be more to my life than being forced into things I did not desire. And before I knew it, I was in love and I never looked back after that. He lights up my life in such a way.” She shook her head. She had not expected to say so much. She knew the maester would tell her lord father all of this.

He smiled at her. “You sound fulfilled, my lady. Happy,” Maester Walys said. “And Prince Rhaegar sounds wiser than his years. It seems he recognizes your strength and your strengths. You will be queen someday and him king. He will need your support.”

“And he shall have it. Always,” she told him. “I wanted to tell Father all these things. I wanted him to be proud of me for all the things that I have been doing, but he called me awful names and I didn’t want him to know anything any  longer. Those words were hurtful and unfair and that he would always so readily believe the worst of me . . . the way he cut me down . . .” She felt her throat tighten again like it had been whenever she recalled what had happened. She stood and excused herself. Her nerves were frayed and she knew she would cry if she remained there.

Lyanna had held out the hope that her lord father would be understanding, that he would be kind to her, that he would give her some reassurance that he would stand behind her and Rhaegar.

He had done no such thing.

 _A harlot and a dragon’s whore,_ he had called her.

That had angered her. That had hurt her. That had broken her heart. She felt as though she had lost the only parent that was left to her.

There were truths she wanted to throw at him. Like how he cared so little about her life that he never bothered writing her or replying to the letters she had sent him. Or how he became distant the moment he found out she had flowered. She could have told him that he tried to take _everything_ from her and suck away what little joy she had left in her life before he had finally sent her to her lady aunt.

Lyanna had not expected her lord father to be happy with the secrets and the lies. Because in the end, that was exactly what she and Rhaegar had done. They had lied and they had kept secrets. They had done so for fear, but there came a point when they had grown somewhat comfortable with it all.

In King’s Landing, after they married, they had to sneak around to be able to spend a quiet moment or a night together. And when she spent the night with him, she always got up before the crack of dawn to return to her rooms through the small concealed hallway that was hidden behind a false wall and large tapestries. It was dusty and there were cobwebs and it set Lyanna to holding her sneezes in until she reached the safety of his chambers or made it to her own.

Dragonstone had been different, though. Dragonstone was Rhaegar’s and the people who constituted his household were his through and through, from the cook to the maester to the castellan. Loyal to him, every last one of them.

At Dragonstone, they did not pretend to be anything they were not. They just were.

Lyanna had been happy when she lived there. They both had been happy. They worked during the day and when the sun began to set, they would go riding along the shore or they sparred in the yard. At night, Rhaegar would pick up his harp and play and Lyanna would close her eyes and listen. Sometimes he sang but most times he only plucked melodies from the silver strings.

And when the castle became quiet in the night, they would both stand and walk to their respective bedchambers. Rhaegar would see Lyanna to hers, like the perfect prince that he was, before he entered his own. He did not have to walk far. His chambers were next to hers.  

And through the wardrobe with the false panels, Lyanna would come into his rooms, changed into her night clothes.

And between those walls, Rhaegar was neither the perfect prince, nor was he a gentleman. Lyanna didn’t want him to be.

Between those walls, Rhaegar was a dragon who wanted to consume her and Lyanna was wild and wanton, letting out all the pent-up energies of the day out. They were like two animals let out of their cages. Whether Rhaegar fucked her into his bed slowly or took her hard, whether she took her time riding him to drive him mad or went at it hard, whether they chatted the night away or only slept, between those walls, it was them as they were, raw and intense or quiet and reflective and laughing by turn.

On Dragonstone, there was duty, but there was also the freedom they both craved. Their world shrunk to that small dreary island that Lyanna had come to love. Dragonstone was their world as they wanted it to be and Rhaegar ran it in the way he hoped to run the Seven Kingdoms someday.

Lyanna sighed as she walked out of the main gate and crossed the drawbridge into the market square of winter town. She had been coming here every day for the past four days because she knew Rhaegar would be stopping here before making for the gates of Winterfell. He told her that he would be tired and filthy by the time he arrived. He would want a bath and need a good night sleep before he sat with her lord father. It would not do not to be presentable and exhausted.

She walked slowly amongst the stalls, looking at what was being sold. There was nothing new that she saw. One of the merchants offered her a bracelet wrought in bronze and iron, picked with pearls. Lyanna declined. It was expensive and time consuming work and she was never one to take things for free from anyone. She thanked the man for his kind gesture and inquired after his little daughter, a girl of six name days that Lyanna had taken an instant liking to. When he told her she had not come with him, Lyanna pressed a small bag of candied nuts in the man’s hand for her. “She liked them so much when I shared them with her the other day,” she explained.

“Always so generous,” a voice came from behind her and Lyanna's back stiffened for a second before her face broke into a wide grin and she turned around. Jon Connington was looking at her seriously. _The man ought to learn how to laugh,_ Lyanna thought.

“What took you so long to arrive?” she asked without preamble.

“Storms on the narrow sea. I thought the ship was going to go down several times by the time we crossed the Bite. That fiend Lord of Sweetsister kept the Night Lamp black.” He snorted. “Keeper of the Night Lamp, he calls himself. What a jape! I don’t know how many ships wrecked because of him. The man ought to be hanged. After that we were greeted with snows while we were on the road. It’s spring everywhere in the realm but here.”

“It is the north, my lord,” she said as they walked away from the stalls, “it snows without a moment’s notice, though we were spared here it would seem.”

“How lucky for you!”

“When did you arrive?”

“An hour or so ago. I was coming to find you but you’ve saved me the trip to Winterfell and the awkwardness of having to ask after you. Third floor, last door to the right,” he told her.

Lyanna felt relieved and she picked up the pace. She pulled the hood of her cloak over her head, for all the good it would do. People at the Smoking Log knew who she was. Jon held the door open for her when they arrived. Inside, Myles Moonton was sitting at one of the tables with a horn of ale. He acknowledged her with a small nod before turning away and looking out of the window.

Though she was certain everyone who laid eyes on them would know they were southron knights, Lyanna was glad to see that neither men were wearing their House colors and their garb had seen better days.

 _It’s Myles who should have come to find me_ _,_ Lyanna reflected. Myles could easily blend in with his brown hair. Jon was a different matter with that red hair. He was difficult to miss even in a pitch dark night.

Lyanna climbed the stairs two by two so that she would not run and then followed the narrow hallway all the way to the end, to the last door on the right. She had barely gotten her hand up to knock that she heard the bar being lifted. The door opened just enough so that she may step in.

Rhaegar closed the door behind her and barred it. “I didn’t even knock,” she said giving him a quick kiss on the lips.

“I saw you from the window,” he replied. He watched her untie the strings of her cloak. Once she was done, he took it from her and laid it on the chair.

Lyanna took in the sight of him and smiled. “I thought you would dye your hair to travel.”

“I just washed it out when I bathed. I did not think it would do to meet the Warden of the North with dark hair.” He smiled back at her, then bent his head and kissed her proper. “I have missed you.”

“And _I_ have missed you,” she told him. They had seen each other every day since Lyanna had moved to King’s Landing, and they had shared the same bed every night when they were on Dragonstone. Every waking hour, they had been together. His absence had left her hollow.

His hair was still damp when she ran her fingers into it and his tunic clung to some wet spots on his back and chest. Lyanna stood on the tip of her toes and wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing and molding her body to his before she kissed him. One of his hands gripped her dress at the small of her back while the other hand cradled the back of her head. His tongue slid along the seam of her lips before it slipped into her mouth seeking hers and Lyanna felt the blood rush in her ears and her body begin to respond to him. It did not take time to feel that need pool in her belly and for her smallclothes to become damp. It did not take him time to grow hard. That always pleased her to feel him there, pressing against her, knowing that she was could awake his desires like that.

Gradually her bodice became too constricting and the clothes they wore were in the way of everything they wanted to do, but his hands had already moved from where they had been to unlace her.

She pulled away from him just enough to look into his eyes. “I want a babe, Rhaegar,” she whispered, finally working up the courage to speak what had been on her mind since she had left Dragonstone. The more time she spent around the children of the Red Keep or Dragonstone, the more she had come to want this. “I want to feel our babe kick and move inside me and I want to hold it in my arms when it is born and I want to love it like I love you. And it will be ours and the world can whisper behind our backs until you and I are swept from this life. I don’t care.”

Nothing could be worse than what her lord father had said to her, what he had called her. What everyone else thought of her after that made no matter to her.

“Once this is done, there will be no going back. We can still wait if you want.”

“That’s the thing. I don’t want to wait. Children meant nothing to me. I didn’t want them because it was my duty to have them for a husband I had to marry. This? Us? It’s nothing like that. I married you because I love you, not because my arm was twisted into it. And I want a babe because right here, with you, I can make the choice.”

“Lya, you understand what our children will be, what this child might be?”

That always made her want to weep whenever she thought of it. Lyanna wondered if Rhaella felt this way whenever she thought of Rhaegar’s destiny while she had been pregnant with him. “Does it make me selfish?” she asked him. He would need heirs eventually.

Rhaegar looked at her. “No, I think it only makes you human. I want this as much as you do. And we will make sure they have all the support they will ever need to beat what’s coming. We are trying to get ahead of the Long Night for their sakes.”

She nodded at that and she saw him swallow thickly when the apple in his throat bobbed up and down. “My life for yours, my life for theirs. Without a second thought,” he pledged.

“And my life for yours, my life for theirs. Without a second thought,” she echoed his oath, though he never liked hearing her say it.

“It will never come to it,” he told her, running his fingers in her loose curls.

She finished unlacing herself when he dropped his hands to his side. She threw her bodice to the ground and then started undoing the buttons of her dress, one by her, unhurried. Rhaegar’s eyes followed every single movement she made. When she was done with the buttons, she began pulling the dress off her shoulders, letting it fall down to her hips. Half-naked, she stood before him and he licked his lips with the tip of his tongue. So slowly. He made her want to jump out of her skin whenever he did that.

He reached behind his neck and pulled his tunic up over his head and off his body, throwing it to the ground where it landed next to the bodice. She saw the bruises he had collected from the tourney were fading. She connected one bruise to the other with her fingers before she trailed down his abdomen and past his navel. She followed the trail of very pale hairs that disappeared into breeches that were slung very low on his hips. He was well made, her husband was, she reflected for the thousandth thousand time. She worked the laces quickly while he pushed her dress and the rest down her hips. They stepped out of their clothes.

“You look glorious,” he said before crushing his lips to hers. It escalated quickly after that. Lyanna gave him a shove toward the bed and they both fell in together. He moved to the middle of the bed and put his head on the pillow and looked up at her as she hovered above him. She put her knees on either side of him, took him in hand and bit by bit sank down his length. She sighed at the feeling of fullness and saw his eyes roll in the back of his head before he closed them and bit back a moan. “It’s just like you to make me do all the work,” she said.

His eyes flew open at that and he quirked a smile. “Work is it?” he asked her with a hint of sarcasm in his tone as she rose up and down him. His breath hitched in the back of his throat and his cheeks were becoming tinged with color. “I am more than happy having you under me or any other way, really, but I know how much you enjoy a good ride. And I don’t make you do all the work. I do help you along the way.” One of his hands traveled slowly from her hip, to her waist, stopping on top of her breast. She trapped it there with her own hand.

“Look at you, so clever and full of japes.” She ground her hips down on him and then circled them.

“Do that again,” he whispered and she obliged him.

She had not realized how much she needed this until they started moving in tandem and the tension that had began to build within her the moment she had stepped on the ship that took her from Dragonstone started to ebb. It was slow at first, building them both up to that place, then she picked up the pace and did not let up. The faster she rode him, the more she wanted. They were as close as two people could be physically in that moment, yet she did not feel like they were close enough. She wanted more, she needed more. And as though he had read her mind, he pushed up onto an elbow first, then supported himself on one arm thrown behind him as he sat, with her in his lap. She shifted her legs and crossed her arms behind his neck. Her fingers buried in the tangle that was his hair. He snaked one arm around her waist and he drove into her like his life depended on it.

And she was there at the edge of the cliff, waiting for him to push her off it and then catch her. “Right there,” she moaned against his ear when he started hitting all those spots. She kissed him and when she fell over the cliff, she bit his lip hard to stop herself from screaming. She whimpered instead and tasted his blood on her tongue.

He did not flinch when she drew blood, though. He never did. Instead he looked straight into her eyes before his turn came. And she felt it all when he dropped his head to her shoulder, the way his body went rigid and then boneless before he collapsed back onto the bed, taking her down with him. This was the first time he had spilled his seed inside her since they had consummated their marriage.

Lynna’s ragged breath was beating in her ears same as her heart was. They were both sweaty and she shivered when she felt the cool air hit her skin as she started to come down from her high.

“If we conceived a child,” he said, “let’s never tell them it happened in an inn, no matter how clean it is.”

“Or we could hold it over their head.”

Rhaegar barked out a laugh. “Sounds like something you would do. And when would you use this information? When they don’t listen to you?”

Lyanna bit her lip and gazed away from him. Rhaegar became serious. He turned her head toward him, gently and looked at her. “What’s happened?” he asked her.

She left the bed and walked to the basin of water and threw a washcloth in it. She wrung the excess water out and washed the stickiness away from between her legs and the inside of her thighs. She rinsed it out and tossed it to him and he cleaned himself up, quickly. She went around the bed to pick up her things and began to dress. He looked at her puzzled then stood and began pulling his own clothes on. “Lyanna, I know when something is bothering you.”

“My lord father knows,” she finally said.

“How badly did he take the news?” He grabbed her arm to turn her around so that she may face him. He always hated speaking of serious things with her back turned to him. “Very badly, then,” he stated.

She nodded her head and felt her throat tighten once more. “I think it’s safe to say he hates me.”

Rhaegar frowned at that and sat back down. “Aren’t you being a tad dramatic? He just found out we have been lying much longer than a year about our lives. He just found out that his promise to Lord Robert is invalidated by our marriage. That is a lot to take in. He does not hate you.”

He was always so reasoned and so reasonable, Lyanna thought. “You weren’t there.”

“Why didn’t you wait for me? After all this time, a week longer for the truth to come out was nothing,” he said.

“You should have come with me,” she reproached him.

“And I would have, you know this. But it was not possible with my father breathing down my neck and one of your brothers threatening to slit my throat while I slept. I don’t think he would have appreciated me getting on the same ship as you. And a Manderly ship no less. Do you think Lord Manderly would have kept that quiet?”

 _No, he would not have,_ she thought. “After Harrenhal and the queen of love and beauty laurels, it was hard to justify it without explaining the truth. What did you want me to tell him, Rhaegar? More lies?”

“No. No. I would not ask that of you. All of this has gotten so out of control, sometimes I wonder how we got here.” He shook his head, like he did when he tried to clear his mind. “I wish I had arrived sooner,” he said, pulling her down beside him. “But I don’t think this is all of it. Tell me. I want to know everything.”

Lyanna nodded her head, but before she could get the words out, she burst in tears. Days of hurt and anger and tension had finally bubbled to the surface and there was no stopping the tide. Rhaegar looked at her shock writ plain to see on his face before he pulled her to him and wrapped his arms around her. She felt him press his lips to the top of her head while one of his hands ran up and down her back soothingly. He did not say a word, he just let her cry and when she finally managed to stop, he wiped her tears with with the pad of his thumb.

“I’m sorry,” Lyanna said.

“What are you sorry for? Those were tears of pain, Lya. Did he strike you?” That thought alone angered him, she knew. She had no idea what he would do if that ever happened.

“No, nothing like that.” He watched her and waited. “He called me a harlot,” she laughed bitterly, her tears renewed. “He called me a dragon’s whore. He called me things that I expected to hear from the likes of Cersei Lannister, not from my lord father’s mouth.”

“Did he try and apologize for this?” But as he said that, she could hear the hardness of his voice and she knew he was angered by what she’d told him. But while his voice was hard, his eyes were filled with concern.

She shook her head. “He didn’t. And I don’t care. He is angry that this happened. He is angry that he was put in a position where he has to go back on his word.”

“It doesn’t excuse the things he said to you. And he clearly has no notion of what Robert Baratheon is truly like. Your brother is completely mad for wanting to see you married to that oaf.” He brushed her cheek with his thumb. “My beautiful wife, so full of love and so full life, who has filled every corner of my life with joy. I hate to see you hurting like this. I should have come here after we married, spared you this. This is my fault. I should have done better by you. I regret it.”

“Our marriage?”

“No. Not that. Never that. I regret not calling my father’s bluff when he threatened me. My regret is that I was not brave enough to stand up to him before his paranoia and the madness took firm hold, before he started burning people, before he grew so volatile. How different would our lives be now if I had done what needed to be done then?”

“We didn’t know. But I would still marry you. I love you even more if that’s possible,” she pulled herself onto his lap and rested her head in the crook of his neck.

“Is that why you bit my lip so hard?” he asked her.

“Well I could not get enough of you, so . . .” Their eyes met briefly.

“If things don’t work as way they ought to, I will abdicate my crown.”

“Do you think it will come to that?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. You and I can still accomplish what we want to accomplish from Essos.”

She nodded and pressed her lips to his gently. “I need to get back before it gets dark and he sends guards after me.”

She stood and Rhaegar followed. “Lya, whatever your lord father says to you that you feel will make things worse between you, please ignore it. Whatever your impulse is, do not give into it. I will be at Winterfell before midday on the morrow. He will never speak those words to you again, I promise.” He tied the strings of her cloak about her neck then tucked her hair behind her ears before he pulled the hood over her head. He kissed the palm of one hand, then kissed the other. When she was in the hallway, he closed the door and she heard him bar it behind her.

Lyanna walked down the stairs and into a more crowded common room. She saw Jon and Myles sitting by the hearth. If they saw her, they did not let on. When she stepped outside, she looked up at the third floor and searched out Rhaegar's window. He was there, half-hidden by the curtain, looking down at her.

The gate was closed by the time she arrived below the walls of Winterfell. When the guard saw her, he gave orders to let her in. Her lord father was waiting for her, his arms crossed. “Where were you?” he asked her without so much as a greeting.

“Winter town,” she replied courtly and walked around him. He was asking to see if she would tell him the truth. Because of course someone must have reported on her. This was why the gate was already closed, she concluded.

“ _Where_ in winter town?”

“Why do you ask?" She turned around and faced him. "Which guard did you have following me?” He gave her an angry look and said nothing.

“I was at the Smoking Log as you well know,” she replied with a voice filled with scorn.

It was not enough for him, though. “The reason I had you followed is because I do not trust you. Trust has to be earned,” he almost yelled at her. “And what were you doing there?”

 _I was fucking my husband, like the dragon whore that I am, my lord. I was enjoying my husband’s hands all over my body and his cock buried deep inside me_ _,_ she almost said. Perhaps it was the earlier conversation with Maester Walys and not wanting to make Rhaegar’s life more difficult than it already was that made her reconsider her words.

“I was with my lord husband,” she said not caring who heard. “He arrived today and wanted to rest before he met with you. He will be here on the morrow before midday to speak to you. After that, you will never have to lay eyes upon my face again.” Lyanna walked inside the castle, leaving her father behind.


	13. Author's Note

I don't have anything much to say other than I will be posting no further chapters on the story (for the time being). I said that I would be gauging the response to the story, and that's what I have done.

I would like to thank everyone who has taken the time to write comments on the story. You will never understand how happy it made me or how much it encouraged me to keep writing. Every time, after the lacking response to a chapter made me go 'well, that's enough' a comment came along that made me smile or laugh and open my document and write more. And if I could get those people who took the time the next chapters, I would, but this thing doesn't have a proper PM system. Or maybe I'm so technologically dumb (I really am) that I haven't found it.

But let's face it, if I can't get more than 6 or 7 people to comment on hours of work, then I don't think it's working and I'm not sure that it's worth it. And maybe the story isn't working for everyone who reads it, and that's fine too.

This isn't for lack of inspiration or because I have a writer's block. That surprisingly has not happened with 16 chapters in. So it is a painful decision because I am very much attached to the characters.

Again, thank you, those who have taken the time. I very, very much appreciate it.


	14. Author's Note II, I guess?

I thought something horrible had happened and that I had missed over 30 emails from my work until I realized it was my personal email. 

I am somewhat floored by the reaction. I really did not mean to freak anyone out or disappoint anyone or make anyone feel like I was twisting their arm into leaving a comment, though all of this is very much appreciated. Please, don't say your life is in shambles because of this. I hate feeling like I've let anyone down.

Here's why feedback is important to me.

The first thing is, English is not my native language. It is my third and I spend my work days switching around, so much so it becomes a tangled mess. So when I'm writing, I have to research and make sure I am using the proper words, proper terminologies and even then, sometimes it's not quite there. This is why I tend to hold chapters back. I know none of you are editors, though.

Second thing, and perhaps the most important for me, personally, is that I am writing something that I am hoping I can get published at some point. It's something that has nothing to do with this universe or these characters (especially since they don't belong to me). So I am trying to gauge is if the style of writing is working, if the characters are working within the story. In the end, while I love RxL, I am also trying to find my writing voice, and feedback does help that along.

The third thing is I want to see if I'm getting the readers' attention in what I was going for, and maybe there's more I can do to get the point across. Maybe the chapters are too long and I need to make them shorter. In the end I do want to do the characters justice. That's very important to me.

I appreciate the suggestions that the title needs to be changed. My files for this are under a different title "More Than You Know", which probably still sounds lame, but that's fine. I'm not exactly creative when it comes to these things and I can sit for three hours and still not come up with anything remotely interesting. 

I also appreciate that the summary isn't great. Summaries are the bane of my existence, to put it mildly. But I know that summary needs to change. I know my tags are a nightmare as well. 

Anyway, let's give this another shot. I will post chapter 13, (Rhaegar/Rickard) that I know some people really want. It will be titled "The Long Night." It will be done sometime this week.

Chapter 14 will be a Jaime chapter.  
Chapter 15 will be a Robert chapter.  
Chapter 16 will be a called "Confrontation II" and this is a really big one.

This is all tentative as the last chapter I posted was an insert because things were not flowing properly. And this is another reason I don't post chapters right away when I'm done with them.

But we'll see how things go after the next chapter is posted. And I really didn't mean to make anyone feel bad for not commenting, or anything like that. Everyone who takes the time to read and leave kudos, I appreciate that too. I don't mean to sound like an ingrate or a brat. But I got more than 30 comments for a 200 word note and 5 for a 5,000 word chapter that I thought was good, but then wasn't so sure it was as good as I thought it was. If I do something, I want to do it well.

Let's just move on from this.


	15. 13: The Long Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhaegar and Lord Rickard have a long overdue conversation.

There had been many an awkward moments in Rhaegar’s life. There was the first time Tywin Lannister had proposed marriage between Lady Cersei and Rhaegar that Aerys had declined promptly, claiming both parties were too young for such talk. And there was the second time Lord Tywin had tried to sway Aerys to see the genius of such a marriage. Lady Cersei was older now. She was rich, beautiful, flowered, ready to be wedded and bedded, ready to bear children. Perhaps that had been where the awkwardness had come from, that Lord Tywin would not give up on this idea.

Rhaegar had wanted none of her, though. And he especially wanted none of her or the politics involved when he watched Lyanna Stark standing off in the corner, chatting, smiling and laughing with people she knew, looking so lovely it stopped his heart. The longer he was at Lannisport for the tourney, the more the ball of dread in his belly grew and coiled. His days had been filled with panic that his lord father would accept the proposal. But Aerys had asked Rhaegar’s opinion on the matter and promptly put an end to Lord Tywin’s ambitions with a few choice words.

Rhaegar’s life had been somewhat thrown into confusion after that excursion to Summerhall on the eve of his seventeenth name day. Instead of the solitude he had been seeking, he found companionship, and instead of the quiet he had been longing for, he found incessant chatter. Normally, he would have found these things irritating.

He hadn't, though.

The handful of days Rhaegar had spent together with Lyanna Stark between the few walls that remained to Summerhall had been good. The best Rhaegar had had in a very long time.

That was the reason he had lingered at Amberly when he had accompanied her back to her aunt’s keep. And it was the reason he kept returning.

One day he caught himself wondering what she was doing. And one day he realized he missed her. And one day he wondered what it would be like to hold her hand, and another day, he wondered what it would be like to kiss her. And one day he wondered what it would be like to tell her he loved her. And one day he woke up wondering what it would be like to stand before the gods and say his vows to her, pledge his life to her. He wondered what it would feel like to stand before her and vow to love her and cherish her and honor her. And one night, he had gone to sleep wondering what it would be like to have her beside him, curled against his side.

One day he held her hand and told her he loved her and kissed her. That had filled him with joy. Every part of him. And that she felt the same as he did? Well, that made his heart leap in his chest. It had not stopped since.

And one day he stood before her and the gods and pledged himself to her. He promised to love her and cherish her and honor and be hers. He would always be hers, even when his last breath left him and his body burned and turned to ash.

 _“Rhaegar, sometimes the things that are the most difficult are the ones that are worthwhile in life. Do you understand?”_ his lady mother had once told him.

Loving Lyanna was not difficult, though. Being married to her was not difficult. Falling asleep beside her was not difficult. There was nothing difficult about them or what they were or the things they wanted from their life together.

It was everything around them that was difficult. It was the expectations the world had set to them that were difficult. It was knowing their lives did not belong to them that was difficult.

Rhaegar looked at Lord Rickard Stark’s stern face and tried to shake off the awkwardness. He never felt more a child than sitting across from the man. He was tall and imposing even seated behind his desk and Rhaegar felt like a boy who was waiting for his parental figure to scold him.

Lord Stark had welcomed him well into his home. Rhaegar had expected nothing less from him. But the anger from the previous day had not tapered off and he had scarce slept for it. He could tell that the Warden of the North was no more pleased by this than Rhaegar was.

“How did you leave King’s Landing, Your Grace?” the maester asked, trying to break some of the tension. Rhaegar appreciated his efforts, but he had not traveled all the way to Winterfell for small talk.

“I have barely spent time in King’s Landing this past year,” he replied courteously enough. “I have been on Dragonstone, seeing to my own keep. Lord Tywin resigned his Handship when my lord father took his heir from him and named him to the Kingsguard as I’m sure you already know. The king’s small council is a collection of lickspittles and flatterers and men of no scruples. And my lady wife was called a harlot and a dragon’s whore by her lord father,” he looked to Lord Stark. His resolve to contain his anger had melted away like snow under the warm sun.

“Your Grace . . .” the maester started to say, but Rhaegar was in no mood for this.

“Did you call her those names, maester?" Rhaegar asked.

"No, my lord."

"Then I will hear from Lord Stark.”

“The things that were said are between my daughter and myself,” Lord Stark said.

Rhaegar shook his head. “Normally, I would agree. But not in this, my lord. You made it my concern when you used those words. You involved me in this matter when you laid your accusations before hearing what it was Lyanna had to say. What you said to her was unfair and unkind.”

“You are right, I should have called her a liar instead and a schemer and disowned her. My daughter lied for longer than a year about her life.”

“We both lied, I will grant you that. But there never was any scheming,” Rhaegar replied. He picked up the goblet on the small table beside him and swirled the wine around before he put it back down. He did not want to be sitting here or the wine that had been served him. He wanted to be with his wife, with whom he had spent so little time since she had left Dragonstone. He wanted to yell at Lord Rickard for the things he said to her and command him to never speak those words again.

He wanted the world to leave them in peace.

“One thing I learned from your daughter is the northern sense of justice, the kind you have taught your children. You owe it to a man to look into his eyes, hear his words before condemning him. Does Lyanna deserve less than a man who is being judged for theft or rape or murder?”

Lord Rickard huffed at that. “If you or she had had the courtesy to inform me that her status had changed, words like these would never have been spoken. My daughter left me and her lady aunt and her brothers in the dark. She kept life-altering truths from her own family.”

“I am her family too,” Rhaegar replied dryly. “This was not done for malice, my lord, nor was it done to hurt you. Things got away from me so much that I did not know how to regain control of them.” He sighed and unbuttoned the collar of his doublet. “My father saw enemies and traitors everywhere after Duskendale. But none was a bigger threat to him than myself. He feared I would marry Cersei Lannister and take his throne. And he feared that marrying Lyanna would do the same. And I feared for her life.”

“And your life,” the maester said.

“My life means little and less, Maester. I know who I can trust and who I can’t trust. I would died with my sword in hand to protect her, as would the men I trust. But what would happen to her after? So we kept quiet. Well . . . it does no good to speak of roads not taken.” He shrugged. He had blundered and made a mess of everything.

“I don’t think I can apologize enough or make this right for you.” He turned his gaze back to Lord Rickard. “But do not presume to call her such names again or think that this is something that does not concern me. This kind of slander, I expect in King’s Landing, Lord Stark. People are unkind and will say and do anything to bring a person low. I do not expect it from you.”

“Did you bed her before you married her?” The question came quickly, but Rhaegar had expected it.

“No," he said firmly. "And let me make this perfectly clear to you. Lyanna is not a harlot nor is she my whore or my mistress. Lyanna is my partner in every sense of the word. She is my wife and the the family I chose.”

Lord Stark said nothing. Beside him the maester was looking at him thoughtfully.

“You have raised a fine lady,” Rhaegar finally said.

“Lyanna is no lady,” her lord father replied.

“And what is a lady, exactly, my lord? A woman who knows how to run her keep? A woman who knows how to entertain, knows her courtesies? If that’s the case, then Lyanna is every inch a lady. And more.” He paused and stood. He went around his seat and leaned over the back of it. “She is a tireless worker and clever and well-loved. She knows her courtesies, she knows her duty and understands what is expected of her. What does it matter what she chooses to do with her free time?" he asked him. "If she wants to train in the yard or go riding or sit quietly in a corner and read a book, those things are up to her. I’ll not take them from her, nor will I try to change who she is to fit some ridiculous notion that women should be seen and not heard.

"I am of the blood of Rhaenys and Visenya and Alysanne and Nymeria and more, my lord, strong and unconventional women all of them who shaped the history of these kingdoms.” He stood tall then. “Lyanna is perfect the way she is. She is unconventional, certainly. But she is not hurting anyone by being who she is, and frankly, I think the realm can stand to have more Lyannas and less Cerseis.”

Rhaegar could tell Lord Rickard a lot about his daughter, it seemed. He could tell him how she addressed the people who worked at the Red Keep or on Dragonstone by their names and took the time to speak to them and inquire about their families.

And Rhaegar could tell Lord Rickard how his daughter befriended a bastard boy who felt lonely and desolate when his lord father brought him to the Red Keep after his lady mother had passed. He could tell him how she had rimmed his grey-green eyes with kohl, tied a scarf around his head and spent the day playing at pirates with him on his last name day and that for that one day at least, the lonely and sad boy may have been the happiest one in the Seven Kingdoms.

And Rhaegar could tell Lord Rickard how his daughter rescued the little crannogman, Howland Reed, and protected him and cared for his bruises. He could tell him how Lyanna had dressed in a mismatched armor and rode in the lists and won all her matches to redeem the boy’s honor. He did not think the Lord of Winterfell would appreciate that last part, however.

“You should learn to know the woman as I do,” Rhaegar said softly. “I believe she would make you as proud as she makes me.”

Lord Rickard did not seem to accept that, however. “My daughter is impulsive.”

“That may be, but our marriage was the furthest thing from an impulse. We married because the betrothal was a mere formality. And this is really what it boils down to. His Grace made promises he did not keep. With time, I thought I could sway his decision back and the one time he should not have listened to Lord Tywin, he did.” Rhaegar walked to the window and stared out.

One of the first things Rhaegar had noticed when he rode through the gates was how peaceful Winterfell was. It was a different sort of quiet. It felt untouched and a world apart from the rest of Westeros. The air was cool and crisp and clean and he could well imagine fostering his children here, far from King’s Landing and court intrigue. Below in the yard, Lyanna was sitting with Jon, while Myles sparred with her youngest brother under the watchful eye of the master-at-arms.

Lord Rickard was frowning when Rhaegar looked up. He frowned and the maester beside him seemed troubled. “I sent a raven to the Red Keep addressed to His Grace. My cousin, the Lady Branda, had sent me a letter stating that she thought you were interested in Lyanna. After Her Grace Queen Rhaella summoned her, I thought she had the right of it. I sent a raven to King Aerys to see if there was a chance we may be able to discuss the possibility of a betrothal and enter negotiations if he agreed.”

Rhaegar was surprised by that. “I never heard of such a letter. In fact, the only raven we received in a while from Winterfell was the one detailing the dispute between the mountain clans.”

“Ravens get lost all the time,” Lord Rickard said uncertain.

“When did you send this raven, my lord?”

It was the maester who answered his question. “It was soon after Lady Lyanna arrived in King’s Landing.” The maester stood and began searching for something on the tall shelves behind the desk. He pulled a ledger and flipped through the pages before he walked toward him. Rhaegar moved away from the window and breached the gap between them. The maester showed him the recorded date. Four months before Duskendale, Rhaegar saw. Before he and Lyanna had even discussed going to the Isle of Faces to marry. He shook his head dismayed.

Ravens got all lost all the time, that was true enough. Yet when Rhaegar started looking back at the correspondence that had been sent from Winterfell and the subject matters that the maester had recorded meticulously, he realized that they had received every single correspondence, save for the one with a marriage proposal in it.  

He returned the ledger to the maester. This stank of Tywin Lannister’s doing, he thought. Or Grand Maester Pycelle. If Aerys had heard what Pycelle had said about Lord Tywin being made to be king, he would have lost more than his tongue. Rhaegar knew he could not trust the man, but even this was too much by that roach's standards.

He unbuttoned the rest of his doublet and removed it, laying it down on the back of his seat. Gods, he felt so warm! Lyanna had not been exaggerating when she mentioned the warmth of the castle. He had touched his hand to one of the walls and felt the hot springs rushing in the back of them. _Like warm blood running through a man’s veins,_ she had told him.

“Seems to me there are rats in the nest,” Lord Rickard said cautiously.

“If they were only rats, it would not be such a problem, my lord. These are vipers, the lot of them. You never know when they will strike. But I will see to them, once and for all, starting with the Grand Maester. That one will lose his head,” he promised. It was time for new blood anyway and Rhaegar would be rid of him. One way or another.

“Your Grace, there have been unsettling rumors about His Grace’s health,” the maester said. “If you could ease our minds.”

Rhaegar sat back down. “I’m afraid I cannot set your minds at ease, Maester. I was once told my grandsire used to say that madness and greatness are two sides of the same coin. Every time a Targaryen is born, the gods toss a coin in the air and the world holds its breath to see how it will land. My lord father always walked that tightrope. And as painful as it is to admit, his coin landed for definite after Duskendale.”

 _This is it,_ Rhaegar thought. “It took me a long time to come to grips with the truth. I thought he would get better in time. It pains me to say he has only gotten worse.”

Lord Stark stared at him. “The rumors about Harrenhall, and why the tourney happened at all,” he said, “are they true?”

Rhaegar found himself at that fork on the road again. But this was not a question he was prepared to answer right this instant. He had no idea where Lord Stark stood, though he did not believe he had cause to worry that he would sell him out, so he decided to ask him a question of his own instead. “My lord, I regret to have to ask you this, but there are rumors about you and the lords Tully and Arryn and I would have the truth from you. It is said that these fosterings and marriage alliances were made to counter the crown’s power and to someday rise in rebellion and overthrow my House.”

Lord Rickard looked taken aback and Maester Walys was gaping at him. _They are not fomenting a rebellion after all,_ Rhaegar saw at once, but there was more going on. That much he could tell. It was the way the two men had looked at each other in silent communication. He waited.

Lord Stark scratched his forehead and closed his eyes for a brief moment.  

“My lord,” Rhaegar said, “if it’s retribution you fear, whatever is spoken here will not leave this room. You have my word.”

“I do not fear retribution, Your Grace. I don’t know what Jon Arryn and Hoster Tully are planning, if they are planning anything at all. Lord Hoster does not trust old Lord Walder Frey and Lord Jon is twice widowed and childless besides. He has fostered countless children. Robert Baratheon has been wanting to marry Lyanna the past two years. Ned stalled him until he could no longer stall him.”

Rhaegar knew that much was true as far as Lord Robert was concerned. Robert was not clever enough or patient enough to plan war. “Let’s forget what the others may or may not be up to. It’s what you are up to that I wish to hear about.”

“It may be better that you believe that I’m planning to rebel . . . the truth will sound mad. Years later, it still sounds mad to me,” he said.

“It is not madness, my lord. It happened once, it will happen again,” the maester said softly. “The omens . . . this is naught but a false spring, all the notes I have taken for the past month and the ones Lady Lyanna helped me with in the past few days point to winter’s return. Already the days grow shorter. This was but a reprieve.”

“A false spring?” Rhaegar asked. “Has this ever happened?”

The maester shook his head. “Not in recorded history, Your Grace. This spring will not last longer than four moon’s turns. We are midway by now.”

“My lord, I know what madness looks like. You do not strike me as being mad,” Rhaegar turned to the lord of the castle, wondering what it was that would make Lord Rickard come to this conclusion. “Do you fear that I will not believe whatever you will tell me?”

“Yes,” Lord Stark said honestly. “What do you know of the Long Night?” he finally asked.

Rhaegar felt a shiver run down his spine and the hairs on the back of his neck stand. He swallowed thickly. “I know a lot and not enough,” he said in a low voice, trying to weigh his words. _Where is this going,_ he wondered. “Why do you ask?”

“I thought of you, Your Grace, after Lyanna was born. I’m sure she has told you of the circumstances of her birth?”

Rhaegar nodded. “Your lady wife went riding and was caught in a storm in which she gave birth.”

“It was summer, the weather was warm by our northern standards. She was not gone an hour when the skies turned to grey and one of the worst snow storms I had ever seen unleashed. We are used to summer snows in the north, but that was as true and genuine as any winter storm I had ever lived through. Lyanna was born in the midst of it.”

“How is it that you came to think of me?” Rhaegar asked though he thought already knew the answer. He and Lyanna were opposite. He was fire, a scion of Old Valyria, born while flames grew higher and taller against the walls or Summerhall, burning everything in their path. And Lyanna was the blood of the north and the daughter of winter.

“A boy born in a blaze and a girl born in a winter storm. By rights, you both should have died. Yet you lived. I thought the coincidence odd. But then Lyanna began having these _nightmares._ I have never been a believer,” he hesitated for the briefest of moments, “yet one of my bannermen from the Neck once told me that the world must strike a balance. Day and Night, summer and winter, black and white, ice and fire. . .”

Rhaegar stared at him. _Every song must have its balance,_ he recalled. “The last dragon died a little longer than a century ago, she had been so small that it is difficult to believe that one as large Balerion the Black Dread ever lived, yet his skull is there in the Red Keep as proof. It’s confounding, really. The Wall falling, eyes blue like stars and black hands, weapons made of ice,” Rhaegar said, “I know of Lyanna’s nightmares. She and I share those.”

“You do?” Maester Walys asked. Rhaegar simply nodded. 

At his desk, Lord Stark was rummaging through his documents. He stopped when he found what he was looking for and handed the pile to Rhaegar. “Did Lyanna make these?” he asked him.

“No,” he replied. “Her lady mother did. Lyanna was far too young to be able to express herself properly.”

Rhaegar saw the drawings with a word here and there to explain what they were. The Wall collapsed, a comet, monsters, a sword catching flame, a wolf with large bat wings. That one held his attention the longest. “Do you believe such things, Maester?” he asked the round-faced man.

He nodded. “I do,” he told him. “We study magic at the Citadel,” he tugged on his Valyrian steel link. “But magic has gone from the world. I was never able to light the glass candle, yet I know that in the time when the dragons lived, glass candles burned in the Hightower. My lady mother once told me that the lord of Oldtown was able to see all the way to the Wall because them.”

Rhaegar seemed to recall that Maester Walys was the baseborn son of a Hightower lady and according to rumor an archmaester of the Citadel. The Hightowers were one of the oldest Houses in the Seven Kingdoms and Rhaegar always wondered if they knew more than they let on. Their House words were _We Light the Way_ and he often wondered if those words went beyond the obvious. And it was known they dabbled in sorcery. “I disagree that magic has gone from the world,”Rhaegar said. “There is magic beyond the Wall and in the Wall. When I stood atop it, I felt it, the pull, and Lyanna said much of the same to me sometime ago.”

Lyanna felt the magic at Summerhall and she felt the magic at Storm’s End and she felt the magic at Dragonstone. And here at Winterfell, she felt it too. And so did he. Magic was not gone from the world, it was only diminished.

“The book my lady wife gave you on the north was in the hopes that you would take interest in it and visit it someday. Her hope was that the north would not stand alone when the time came to fight the Others.”

“The War for the Dawn,” Rhaegar said. “What do you know of me when I was a child, my lord?” he asked him.

Rickard Stark seemed taken aback by his question. “That you were bookish to a fault, Your Grace,” he said cautiously.

“That has not changed. I much rather bury my nose in a book than train in the yard. Yet I found scrolls when I was a boy that made me believe I had to be more because I was more . . .”

“The Prince that was Promised,” the maester said. “My uncle mentioned this. He said that Their Graces were married for the sake of producing this fabled hero.”

“So they did, thanks to a woods witch. She said that the Prince that was Promised would come from their line.” Rhaegar felt bitterness whenever he dwelled on it too long. “I picked up a sword because I realized that no one in the realm would follow a man who did not know how to wield one. We live in a world that respects prowess in the battlefield rather than knowledge. Baelor Breakspear and King Maekar were hailed for their military skills while Aerys the First was mocked and mistrusted for being bookish. The Young Dragon is praised still for a conquest that lasted a fortnight and killed more than fifty thousand men, but Daeron the Second is scorned for bringing Dorne into the king’s peace through marriage. It’s all about perception in the end. And if men were to follow me to fight for our very survival, then I had to pick up a sword and learn how to use it efficiently. But swords will not be enough in this.”

“Your Grace,” Lord Stark said with shock in his voice, “why is it that you have never spoke of this before?”

Rhaegar chuckled. “My lord father is mad. What do you believe the realm would think if I began spewing nonsense about the Others and their army invading the realm? What would the realm think of their crown prince then? How long do you think my House can remain in power after that?”

“Not long,” the lord of Winterfell conceded. “The reasons I accepted to foster Ned at the Eyrie and Brandon’s eventual marriage to Lord Hoster’s daughter and Lyanna’s betrothal to Robert Baratheon was for these reasons. When the Wall falls, the north will be swallowed.”

"Do they know of this, these lords?" Rhaegar asked.

"No."

“The north cannot stand alone,” Maester Walys said. “If Winterfell falls, what hope is there for the rest of the realm?”

Rickard Stark nodded. “I have been thinking about restoring the castles on the Wall, resettling the Gift. But a lot of coin will be needed for that.”

“I have coin and plenty of it,” Rhaegar thought of his accounts at the Iron Bank. “I have been involved in several business ventures that have been very lucrative,” he explained. “I own ships and do a lot of trade with Essos. I would sooner any projects here in the north be funded by me rather than the crown.”

Lord Rickard stood and took a map from one of the shelves and unfurled it on the desk. Rhaegar stood and leaned over the desk. _Gods be good,_  he thought, _the north is so vast! How can we hope to hold it against dead men and creatures of ice?_ And if everything was lost in the north, they would need to hold Moat Cailin and Moat Cailin must needs be restored. _Could these creatures swim,_ he wondered. _Will it even matter?_ He always felt helpless when these doubts began gnawing at him.

“The time will come when we will have to allow the wildlings to cross into the realm,” Rhaegar said.

“My grandfather was killed by Raymund Redbeard at Long Lake,” Rickard Stark said. “He was the King-beyond-the-Wall in those days. Forgive me if I don’t show enthusiasm for wanting to allow the wildlings into the north.”

Rhaegar studied the man carefully. There were a lot of things he had not expected. Lord Rickard had been more open than Rhaegar had anticipated. He was a stern man to be sure, and save for the words he has spoken to Lyanna, he seemed like the man she had spoken of so lovingly. And he was dutiful to the realm. It made Rhaegar wish he had come to Winterfell years ago. There was something in this old place that called to him. Maybe it reminded him of Dragonstone in some ways with the warm walls and the gargoyles. He wasn’t sure.

What he was certain of was that they once knew all there was to know about the Long Night in Winterfell and lost that knowledge, same as the Night’s Watch had. He couldn’t blame them, though. Eight thousand years was a long time to remember. “My lord, you don’t have to show enthusiasm for it, or enjoy the idea. What are the vows taken by every man who joins the Night’s Watch?”

Lord Stark looked at him puzzled, but it was the maester who answered. “I am the sword in the darkness, the watcher on the Walls, I am the fire that burns against the cold, the light that brings the dawn, the horn that wakes the sleepers, the shield that guards the realms of men . . .”

“. . . the shield that guards the realms of men. And what are wildlings if not men?” Rhaegar asked. “Every wildling who is killed north of the Wall is one more man in an army we do not know how to defeat. No one builds a seven hundred foot wall of ice and rock and weave it with old magics to keep men from raiding into the kingdoms. Your daughter once reminded me that the wildlings are the blood of the First Men, same as you, my lord. They worship the old gods, same as you, my lord.”

“Aye, she always said that whenever a wildling was caught south of the Wall,” Lord Rickard conceded.

“I am inclined to believe that the wildlings will rally under another king the closer we are to the Long Night. When that happens, it will be time to meet with him and let him and his cross into the realm. They can join the Night’s Watch and help man the Wall. They can be resettled on the Gift and plow fields. Whatever knowledge they have of the Others, we can use to our advantage.”

Lord Rickard had a stubborn look on his face that reminded him of Lyanna. “My children will be fighting this war, my lord,” Rhaegar's voice rose, “and I _refuse_ to let them be lambs to the slaughter. Lyanna and I intend that they should come on the other side of this alive and victorious.”

“Every song must have its balance, child,” the albino woman had said on her high hill one night, surrounded by felled trees with trunks white as bone. “And you and he together strike that balance.” Lyanna had looked at the crone incredulously. “Things happen in their own time. And the time was not ripe yet for the dragon to wed the direwolf.”

“But it’s time now?” Lyanna had asked. “And what is this union supposed to produce exactly?”

“There is power in his blood and yours. What do you think your union with him will produce, child?" Lyanna had sobbed after that. _How do we protect our children from their destiny,_ she had asked him. “We can’t. Destiny is unavoidable,” he had replied. He had been as shaken by this as she was. “All we can do is make sure they are ready when the time comes. They won’t stand alone in this.”

“You have shared this with Lyanna?” Lord Rickard seemed surprised by that.

“I am not in the habit of keeping things from her. For a very long time, I thought I was the one who would lead this fight. It’s something I had come to terms with. I had accepted that burden, I had accepted the possibility that I would die doing _this thing._ Finding out that it would be my children has made everything more difficult and much more urgent. Letting the wildlings through the Wall is a small price to pay for my children’s lives, _your_ grandchildren.”

Rickard Stark said nothing to that but Maester Walys cleared his throat. “Your Grace, Lord Stark asked you about the rumors with regard to the tourney at Harrenhall. Is it true that you were hoping to hold an informal council to see to the removal of His Grace from the throne?”

 _How is it that everyone knows about this,_ Rhaegar asked himself once more. _How did Varys find out about this? I was so careful! How is it that my head is not rotting on the walls of the Red Keep?_

Rhaegar considered the maester. This was utterly ridiculous, he thought for the umpteenth time. “It is true,” he said hesitantly. “The realm is in grave danger and my lord father is no longer fit to rule. I don’t intend on taking his crown. He can keep it for as long as he lives, but a regent is needed and a new small council that is not made of men who would see the realm burn around them to advance their fortunes.”

Lord Stark sat back down in his chair. Rhaegar realized how nervous the man was. “My daughter will be protected?” he asked.

“With my life, without a second thought,” Rhaegar said. “My lord, I will give up my crown before I see her hurt, we will leave for Essos and live out our days there if we must.”

The maester scribbled something on a piece of parchment that Lord Stark read quickly. “I was thinking the same,” he finally said. “My son Brandon is going to marry soon.”

“I was aware.”

“Perhaps you should come to the wedding, Your Grace.”

Rhaegar grimaced at that. “Your sons have no love for me. I believe Lord Brandon would much rather see me dead than have me present when he exchanges his vows.”

“You don't have to be at the wedding. You can come the following day. Jon Arryn will be there as well as Hoster Tully and myself. Robert Baratheon will be there too. You can make your case for this Great Council. I have no doubt they will listen. Whether they support your endeavors is another matter entirely.”

This was a good idea. Riverrun would host lords and lordlings. He would have no less than four of the seven kingdoms present and it would be near as good as what Rhaegar had hoped to have at Harrenhall.

“I will have to write Lord Robert,” Lord Stark was saying, “to rescind this betrothal. He will not be pleased and you may well lose his support, but he is very close to Jon Arryn and I think he can convince him that a Great Council is the right course of action. The last thing the realm needs is war.”

Yes, the last thing the realm needed was war, and no, he did not expect Robert Baratheon to be pleased with any of this. For all that, Lord Robert could swing that warhammer like no one Rhaegar had ever seen and he would need him and those skills when the time came.

“Dowry, my lord,” the maester said. “There is the matter of Lady Lyanna’s dowry.”

“I have no need of it,” Rhaegar said. “Direct that toward restoring the Wall or paying whatever was promised Lord Robert.”

Lord Rickard nodded. “I have a favor to ask,” he said hesitantly.

“I am all ears,” Rhaegar replied. He listened to what the man had to say and smiled. “I have no objections to it, my lord, but the final say in this belongs to Lyanna.” He pushed his hair away from his face. “You can’t avoid this, my lord. You must speak with her. You must let her tell you what her life is like and that she is happy.”

Much later after he had eaten, he sat on the carpeted floor at Old Nan’s feet and beside him, Lyanna’s younger brother, Benjen who would be joining the Night’s Watch after his sixteenth name day to be their eyes and ears when the time came. Jon and Myles were at a table playing a game of tiles and Lyanna was off with her lord father. “You have his looks,” Old Nan told him as she clacked her knitting needles together. “Egg. You look very much like him.” After that, she had launched into a story about the Nightfort and the Night’s King and his corpse queen. Rhaegar wondered how much was truth and how much was fabricated and who this lord commander had been who sacrificed to the Others.

When Lyanna returned, she plopped on the ground beside him. “How did it go?” he whispered to her.

“Very well,” she replied a little surprised and he could see how relieved she was. “The day after tomorrow?”

“As you wish,” he said with a smile. 

He took his leave from Winterfell a week later with much regret. Winterfell was the quiet before the storm, he reflected as he looked over his shoulder at the grey tall walls and Lyanna standing on the battlements, her long hair whipping in the wind, watching him go. And as he traveled by land and sea, he kept the new memories he had made close to his heart.

There had been breathless laughter and riding their horses in the wolfswood, bathing in the hot pools and taking her beneath the heart tree with her gods bearing witness to their union.

But the one memory Rhaegar would cherish for the rest of his life was how beautiful and regal Lyanna had looked in her ivory wedding gown and her maiden’s cloak as her lord father walked her down the path to him so that they may pledge themselves to each other once more. It felt right, renewing their vows in the godswood of Winterfell as the spring snows fell in sheets.

And as she stood before him, smiling and pink-cheeked with the snow melting in her hair, Rhaegar felt himself fall in love with her all over again. How could he not?

Lyanna would follow him south soon. He would see her next at Riverrun where her brother was due to marry. And after the Great Council was convened and matters of the realm were settled, everyone would know that Prince Rhaegar Targaryen had married Lyanna Stark. 

It all sounded so simple that it filled him with a terrible sense of foreboding. 


	16. 14: One of Them

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime Lannister keeps secrets from his family.

Jaime Lannister had never realized just how willfully blind his twin sister was until he had gone to King’s Landing and seen it for himself. Had anyone told him, he would have scarce believed them.

But Cersei had left King’s Landing for Casterly Rock when their lord father had resigned his Handship position after his son and heir had been named by King Aerys to the Kingsguard and Jaime found himself alone in a city he did not want to be in or live in.

Jaime hated his life. He hated his small cell in the White Sword Tower, and he hated being garbed in white from head to heel. White was a terrible color for someone who had never given much of a second thought to dirtying his clothing.

He hated how lonely King’s Landing could be at times. And its foul smell. He hated King’s Landing foul smell. It smelled as though it had been built upon some large swamp. It smelled of half a million people, all living in close quarters. It smelled of sweat and shit and schemes and lies.

 _And how much of this stench did my own father contribute. How many schemes has my own family hatched,_ he wondered. _How many lies have they told?_ He could think of one at least.

Yet at times, these things paled in comparison to the hatred he felt for Aerys Targaryen. He hated him more than he had ever hated anything or anyone in his life. And Jaime often wondered, lying in his small bunk, how he could die defending such a man. Aerys did not deserve protection or defending. What he deserved was a sword in his soft belly.

When Jaime thought he would be able to show his the vast array of skill during the tourney at Harrenhal, Aerys had instead sent him away to guard the queen and the little prince. And when Ser Gerold had offered to go in Jaime’s stead so that he may remain and compete, Aerys had declined, saying that Jaime would find no glory at this tourney, that he belonged to him now and that Aerys could do with him as he saw fit.

Jaime Lannister had become filled with self-doubt and disillusion and bitterness in that moment. Aerys had given him the white cloak with one hand only to take it away from him with the other. He did not know what strings Cersei had pulled to get him noticed, but it had not mattered. Jaime felt proud when he found out he would be named to the Kingsguard.

And shattered mere minutes after he had been inducted into the order.

He had not been sworn in because he excelled with sword and lance or because of his prowess on the field of battle against the Kingswood Brotherhood. Instead he had been named to the Kingsguard to spite his lord father. Aerys had taken Lord Tywin’s heir for hatred and for spite. He had made Jaime a hostage to his lord father’s good behavior.

He had felt confused at first. But confusion soon made way to resentment. He felt disabused of his fanciful notions of heroism and glory and great deeds. Wasn’t he still too young to feel these kinds of emotions?

And that was all in the first couple of weeks he had become a White Sword. Things had gotten so much worse and so quickly.

Jaime felt traumatized standing at the foot of the throne having to listen to the screams of a man as he burned and smell the stench of his flesh as it cooked. He did not think he could forget it, long as he lived. Whenever he closed his eyes, he saw it, the flesh crackling and bubbling, slowly turning to ash while the king looked on in absolute fascination.

And Jaime felt traumatized standing on the other side of Queen Rhaella’s door, listening to her suffer from the abuse her brother-husband inflicted upon her afterward. The queen always looked like she had been mauled by a wild animal whenever the king left her chambers, and for days, she would remain confined, to heal from her injuries.

And Jaime felt overwhelming guilt knowing he could help her. All he had to do was go in and pull him off her. But even Prince Rhaegar had spent a fortnight confined to the cells when he had been younger than Jaime for trying to breakdown the door and help his lady mother. And that was before King Aerys had begun setting people on fire, before he fell into madness.

Jaime did not think he would get the courtesy of spending a fortnight in the cells on the first floor or the tower cells where Prince Rhaegar had been incarcerated, or even the black cells. Jaime would lose his head for laying his hands on the royal blood and that was only if he was lucky. Aerys would likely feed him to the green flames, roast him slowly in his armor. Because he was mad and no one would dare stop him.

 _Is this what the Kingsguard is,_ Jaime wanted to ask his sworn brothers. He had not, though. He could not work up the courage. They looked as sickened and as stricken as he felt. But Ser Arthur Dayne had taken him by the shoulder one rainy morning and told him it would not always be like this. And if the Sword of the Morning was hopeful, then Jaime could allow himself to be hopeful too.

Prince Rhaegar would become king someday and he would usher in a new dawn and all of this would seem a nightmare so distant that Jaime may begin to wonder if it ever happened and if King Aerys even existed.

That was his hope at least.

But Prince Rhaegar was not in King’s Landing. Wherever he was, he had not yet returned. No one seemed to be sure where he had gone or what he was up to, though Jaime was certain Ser Arthur and Ser Oswell were lying through their teeth when they said he had gone to Summerhall.

Prompted by Prince Rhaegar’s choice of queen and love and beauty, King Aerys had sent a raven to Dorne to finally set a wedding date for his son. He had not cared that the prince was absent from King’s Landing.

After that he had spent days raging at his son, calling him every terrible name he could think of, while the men of the Small Council nodded their heads in agreement, save for Ser Gerold Hightower who tried his best to reel the king in. But the White Bull was just one man and there was not much that he could do.

There was a time when Jaime had resented Prince Rhaegar some. Cersei’s infatuation with the man had left Jaime annoyed and somewhat angry. But then he had come to King’s Landing and seen with his own eyes how one-sided all of this was and his feelings toward the prince changed. Prince Rhaegar had not cared for Cersei’s attentions in the least and seldom looked in her direction. Jaime had felt relieved. If the prince was to marry Cersei, then he would seek her bed for duty, not for desire or passion.

Beyond that, Prince Rhaegar had been good to Jaime. He had seen him off when he was sent away from Harrenhal. He had done that because he wanted to, not because he was trying to court favor with Lord Tywin as everyone else did. Prince Rhaegar had no need of that. Instead, he had always seen and treated Jaime as his own person rather than an extension of his lord father and Casterly Rock.

Lord Tywin cast a long and large shadow and Prince Rhaegar allowed Jaime out from under it by speaking to him about the things he liked, the things he wanted, his dreams. “I wish to lead armies someday,” he had said to him once.

Jaime was not cunning as his lord father was, nor was he as clever as his dwarf brother Tyrion. He would never be Hand of the King or Master of Something or Other on the Small Council. He was not made to sit behind a desk, nor did he wish to. He had no patience for such things. But Jaime was great with a sword and in battle. That was his skill. Jaime was a warrior. He was a soldier and an able one at that. He had proved as much when he fought against the Kingswood Brotherhood alongside Ser Arthur and Ser Barristan and Targaryen men-at-arms.

He could lead armies someday and he would be great at it.

Prince Rhaegar had looked at him thoughtfully after that. “I will keep that in mind. Perhaps we will lead them together these armies,” he had replied and Jaime had liked the sound of that more than he cared to admit. Prince . . . no, _King_ Rhaegar, First of His Name, Ser Jaime Lannister and Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning, leading armies together. The singers would make songs of that for a thousand years, like they had about Daeron the Young Dragon and Aemon the Dragonknight and Ser Ryam Redwyne and Serwyn of the Mirror shield. He had felt the boy thinking of that. But he had not cared.

Yes, Jaime had come to like Rhaegar Targaryen a lot. And it was the man’s kindness that had ensured that Jaime would keep his secret. And hers. Because this was Lyanna Stark’s secret as much as it was Prince Rhaegar’s.

Jaime had been pleased to hear that Prince Rhaegar had won the tourney at Harrenhal. And he could not have been less shocked or surprised when he had been told who he had chosen to give the laurels of queen of love and beauty to, though everyone around the Red Keep seemed puzzled. But he had learned long ago that people heard what they wanted to hear and saw what they wanted to see.

But Jaime knew. He had known a while now. He knew Prince Rhaegar and Lady Lyanna Stark were married and he had kept his mouth shut.

It was not information Jaime was looking for. He was looking for a quiet place where he and Cersei might be able to meet and be alone together without having to go down to one of Flee Bottom’s inns. Not that he minded her coming to him dressed as a serving wench. But people now knew who he was down in the city and while he would rather have his feelings for his sister out for the world to see, it was not something he could have. He wanted to be with her before he returned to Casterly Rock.

The godswood seemed a good place for them to be alone. The northmen loved in their godswood, why couldn’t he and Cersei do the same? He did not think she would appreciate his sentiment. Her opinion of the northmen was not a favorable one to begin with.

That was where he had found them, Prince Rhaegar and Lyanna Stark, in the godswood. Jaime had heard the sound of steel on steel and had followed it, stopping dead in his tracks when he saw them. He had hidden behind one of the black cottonwoods and watched them spar with their blunted swords. Jaime had been impressed by how skilled she was, Lady Lyanna. He knew her to be a most accomplished horsewoman to be sure. The one time they raced, she had beaten him soundly. When he had told her he let her win, she had laughed and laughed and laughed and when she finally stopped and wiped the tears from under her eyes, she had challenged him to another race. He had declined. He did not think his pride could take another defeat.

Prince Rhaegar was fond of Lyanna Stark, Jaime had known as much. He was fond of her in a way he was never fond of Cersei. He asked Lady Lyanna to dance and they sat together and played tiles, they went riding together and spent time chatting. Those were things he never did with Cersei. Yet Jaime had had never thought much of it.  A lot of people were fond of the girl around the Red Keep.

That they would spar in the godswood was a little more than surprising. Prince Rhaegar had no love for swords and preferred to be at his books and scrolls rather than the training yard. That he was in the godswood, sparring with a girl no less was a tad shocking. That Lyanna Stark had managed to coax him into this, because this had to be her doing, was plain queer. _How did she even manage that,_ Jaime had wondered, watching them cross swords.

She had lunged at him when he disarmed her, Lyanna Stark had, in an effort to topple him to the ground. But the prince had caught her in his arms and trapped her there before he kissed her on the mouth. And it was not a mere peck on the lips. It was the way a man kissed his lover, slow and deep. And Jaime had been gobsmacked by what he was witnessing.

“You are incorrigible,” she had pulled away from him smiling. She had wiped his lower lip with her thumb and tucked his hair behind his ears and her arms seemed to tighten around his neck and his arms certainly tightened around her small waist.

“Incorrigible?” he had laughed much to Jaime’s bewilderment. A person could hardly get a chuckle from him, let alone a laugh. Prince Rhaegar was a melancholy man. Jaime had often noticed how distant his eyes seemed, as though he was in some other place, far away. “If wanting to steal kisses from my wife makes me incorrigible, so be it.” He had kissed her again longer and harder this time. “I yield,” she had spoken against his lips. “I yield,” she had giggled when the prince had nuzzled her neck and Jaime and retreated further into the trees and walked slowly out of the godswood, feeling like an intruder. This had not been meant for his eyes or ears. He had never gone back to the godswood after that. It was their place, not his.

The knowledge made Jaime feel powerful. This was the kind of secret his lord father paid good coin for. That he had not even caught a whiff of it? Well that said all Jaime needed to know about where the loyalty of those who knew lay. And it was not with Tywin Lannister.

Jaime had been hesitant as to what he should do with the knowledge. On the one hand, the knowledge would give his lord father more power. On the other hand, it was something he would hold over the prince’s head and Jaime had not wanted that.

In the end, he had kept all of it to himself, choosing where his loyalty lay. He had said nothing and observed them closely whenever he could. That was when he began noticing the small things, like whenever Prince Rhaegar picked up his harp and sang, Lyanna Stark would stand by the same window every time and watch his reflection. Their eyes would connect like that. And Jaime thought he might have been singing for her and her alone.

He had also noticed Lady Lyanna was seldom alone. She usually had Prince Rhaegar’s companions about, whether it was bold as brass Myles Mooton or that loudmouth Richard Lonmouth or the stick in the mud Jon Connington. But it wasn’t just them. Ser Oswell and Ser Arthur were usually about her when they were off duty. Ser Arthur took her riding and Ser Oswell would take her to the archery yard for practice, something Cersei sneered at, forgetting there was a time she would disguise herself as her twin brother to get sword lessons from the master-at-arms at Casterly Rock.

Jaime had concluded that all these people knew what he had accidentally found out. And if Ser Arthur and Ser Oswell were keeping Prince Rhaegar’s secret and even helping protect it and protect her, then Jaime would do the same. He found it easy to be loyal to the prince and if he loved Lady Lyanna, then Jaime would be loyal to her as well. 

One morning, Cersei had gleefully confessed to him that a while back before Duskendale happened, Lord Rickard Stark had sent a raven with a marriage proposal between his daughter and the prince that Grand Maester Pycelle had delivered into their lord father’s hands. Lord Tywin had promptly burned the letter and never breathed a word of it to the king.

And when Dorea of Dorne had come to King’s Landing and betrothed her sickly daughter to the prince, Cersei had been most displeased. “He will never marry her,” she had said with confidence. “She is weak bodied and the furthest thing from nubile. She is older than him besides. Rhaegar needs a woman with fire in her blood, not one who catches a chill every time the breeze blows in her direction.”

“And that’s you?” Jaime had snorted. Cersei was beautiful, but she was not near as clever as she thought she was. Oh, she had the right of it. Prince Rhaegar would never marry Elia Martell. But it had nothing to do with her age or her fragile health.

Prince Rhaegar was already a married man. And happily at that. He was in love with his wife, it had seemed to Jaime. And if Cersei managed to stop lying and scheming and telling herself these ridiculous tales that the prince would be hers for less than half a heartbeat, she would see it. But Cersei had always been about Cersei, Jaime had come to realize. Even with him, she was about what she wanted. Jaime always went to her, Jaime always asked, Jaime was the one who wanted to be in her presence. She sought him out only when she needed something from him.

But they had come into the world together and she was his other half.

Jaime had never been one for gossip, but he’d heard that King Aerys had promised his son he would marry the Lady Lyanna. But every word that had been said before Duskendale seemed to matter little and less. Jaime would have asked his sister or his father, but they may have taken that to mean that he was showing interest in the Lady Lyanna. Jaime liked Lyanna Stark. He liked her a lot in fact. She had her own kind of beauty, she had a dry wit and was not false like so many people Jaime had known, including his own sister. But the best part was that she was easy to be around. As far as girls went, Lyanna Stark was very unique and Jaime understood the attraction Prince Rhaegar may have felt toward her. He could even understand how someone as dutiful as the prince would fall in love with her and secretly marry her. If Jaime had to choose between marrying Lyanna Stark or Lysa Tully, Lady Lyanna would win every time.

Jaime liked the girl and so did most people. But Cersei had everyone convinced that Prince Rhaegar was above Lyanna Stark. “The prince needs a queen. He is allowed his friendship with the Lady Lyanna. The north is an important part of the Seven Kingdoms after all.”

 _Friendship,_ Jaime thought. _Love, more like it._ And part of Jaime was looking forward to gazing upon his sister’s face. Would she be enraged or crushed? Neutral in public, he decided. But she would be enraged in private. She would likely smash a vase once she was alone in her chambers. And Jaime would laugh and laugh just as Lyanna Stark had laughed and laughed and laughed at him when he told her he had let her win their horse race. Cersei never stood a chance. She had lost the battle and she had lost the war and she hadn't the faintest idea. It was like a jape and Cersei was the butt of it. She and their lord father.

 _Good,_ he thought several times. _That ought to teach her a sharp lesson. A well deserved one._ Jaime had always found it jarring how quickly Cersei was willing to discard him for the prince. She did not love him, Jaime was certain of that. Cersei wanted to be queen. She wanted to lord over the realm, show off the silver children she would have with the man. All these things spoke to Cersei’s vanity and her Lannister pride.

And while Cersei had been very displeased with the prince’s betrothal to Elia of Dorne, Prince Rhaegar had been downright angry. He had not bothered hiding his feelings. He had picked up his things, boarded a ship and retired to Dragonstone. Lyanna Stark had followed him shortly thereafter. There were no news and no rumors had reached King’s Landing so far as he knew, though Jaime did not need to hear anything to know what those two were up to on that isolated rock.

No, Prince Rhaegar crowning Lyanna Stark his queen of love and beauty was no surprise to Jaime.

“I doubt Elia Martell will be marrying Prince Rhaegar after this,” he heard Ser Jon Darry say from the Round Room. Near a moon’s turn after they had returned from Harrenhal and Jon Darry was still talking about what had happened. Perhaps it was because he was the one who had been guarding the king when Prince Rhaegar had won his final tilt against Ser Barristan.

“Prince Rhaegar was never going to marry my niece,” Prince Lewyn had replied. “You can’t be so blind as to not see where his mind and heart are. That girl is the air he breathes. His Grace should have let him marry Lyanna Stark when he asked. It would have avoided a lot of unpleasantness. It’s not as though the girl is some common wench.”

Jaime had come into the room then. He would be due by the king’s side in an hour or so. He pulled his chair and sat. The others paid him no mind.

“Some people put it in their heads that their daughter should become queen and schemed toward that end,” Ser Oswell said pointedly and Jaime felt heat rise in his cheeks knowing the remark was directed toward his lord father. It made him feel so uncomfortable but Ser Oswell was not wrong. “If they had left well enough alone and not talked the king out of his original agreement with Rhaegar, he may well be married to her now. They may even have had a babe.”

“His Grace was wroth,” Ser Jon was saying. “I have never seen him so angry. He picked up the decanter of wine and threw it at the prince. He missed by several inches, but Rhaegar . . . he did not even flinch. Not for a single moment. He gave His Grace the most contemptuous look I ever saw. He looked to be completely done with his lord father, as though he was ready to walk away from everything.”

“What did His Grace say to the prince?” Ser Barristan asked.

“Same as usual. Ingrate, traitor, rebel,” Ser Jon replied.

“When is he coming back, Prince Rhaegar?” Ser Barristan asked.

“When he is ready to come back,” Ser Oswell replied curtly. “You know how it is when he goes to Summerhall.”

Jaime almost snorted at that. Prince Rhaegar had not returned to King’s Landing after the tourney and neither had Lyanna Stark. The odds were good they were together. Somewhere. And if Barristan the Bold he hadn’t decided to play heroes at Duskendale, Prince Rhaegar would be king, and his queen would be by his side and no one would have blinked an eye at him giving her a crown of flowers.

He had not even finished his thoughts that the man in question stepped inside the Round Room. Ser Oswell stood from his seat at once and pulled his cloak from where it was laying askew behind him. The other Kingsguard including Jaime stood as well. “Your Grace,” they all greeted the prince.

He nodded at them, each in turn. He looked exhausted and his face was flushed from exertion and dirty from the dust of the road. It seemed Prince Rhaegar had just arrived from wherever he had been. “Arthur?” he asked.

“Attending His Grace,” Ser Gerold said.

“How long?”

“An hour or so. Ser Jaime will be taking over for him.”

Prince Rhaegar nodded. “Send him my way after he has had the chance to rest.”

“I take it His Grace does not know you have returned, my lord?” Ser Gerold asked.

Prince Rhaegar shrugged, the displeasure clear on his face. “What His Grace does or doesn’t know is of very little concern to me, Lord Commander. I imagine the word will spread quickly enough that I will be made to breathe the same air as him sooner than I would hope. I would have stayed well away from here if I could.”

Ser Gerold frowned at that but said nothing. Ser Barristan shifted uncomfortably in his seat. The two other Kingsguard only stared at the prince. “I will expect you on the morrow, Ser Gerold. To fill me in on what’s happened while I was away.”

“I will be there,” ser Gerold replied.

“Thank you." He then turned to Ser Oswell. “You’re with me if the Lord Commander can spare you.”

“You may go,” Ser Gerold said to Ser Oswell.

Jaime wished with all his heart he could be in the prince’s confidence, that he could be one of them. He wondered what it was that had the prince in such a foul mood. _It’s this city,_ Jaime thought. _It smells foul and the people in the Red Keep are foul._

He wondered if Lyanna Stark was back as well, but somehow he doubted that.


	17. 15: Ash to Ash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robert reflects on what happened at Harrenhal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Possible trigger warning: there is a bit of sexual violence at the end of the chapter.

_“Ned, due to unforeseen circumstances that will be explained you when we meet at Riverrun, Lyanna’s betrothal to Lord Robert cannot hold. I have written him to express my regrets to him and tell him that the marriage will not take place.”_

Robert Baratheon scratched at the direwolf wax seal and stared at his own copy of the letter. It said much of the same as the one that had been sent to Ned. Lord Stark had offered no explanations or reasons for the breaking of the betrothal to his daughter. He offered his apologies and compensation in the form of the dowry they had barely begun discussing. Lord Stark had wanted to handle the negotiations face to face and had intended on using Brandon's wedding to do so.

 _Piss on that,_ he thought. It was not the coin and the jewels Robert wanted. It was the girl he wanted. It was the girl he desired.

Robert read his letter once more. The piece of parchment he held, the one that was sent to him, made no mention of unforeseen circumstances. His letter said nothing of the sort and Robert had initially thought that the betrothal was being broken due to some of his less than noble behavior at Harrenhal. Robert knew Lyanna had gone to Winterfell after the tourney. Had she complained of his hand traveling too far down her back when they danced? He did not know. Somehow, he did not think Lord Rickard would decide to break his promise over such a thing. It was an innocent gesture and men did it all the time. And Lord Stark had accepted Robert’s proposal knowing that he had fathered a bastard daughter. The Warden of the North had not balked at that. Why would he balk at Robert wanting to sample what would soon be in his and in his bed anyway?

Robert sighed. He remembered every single moment of the tourney at Harrenhal, even the ones he pretended he could not recall.

But when he thought back on it, all he saw was the moment that silver cunt of a prince wheeled his horse around and rode toward the pavilion where Robert had been seated with the Starks. All he saw was that instant when he slid the crown of winter roses down from his lance and onto Lyanna Stark’s lap.

“My sister,” Ned had once said to him, “I don’t think there is a lady like her in the realm. Winterfell comes to life when she is within those walls. My lady mother used to say that Lya was a gift from the gods. When I look at her, I believe it. She is remarkable, Lya is.”

Robert had seen it with his own eyes. Lyanna Stark was indeed remarkable. A remarkable beauty that was. And she loved riding her horse, a beautiful white mare. She loved hawking and swords and fighting. The latter, Robert had not been so sure about. He did not mind that she enjoyed swords, but he did not want his wife to wield one. None of the ladies of Storm’s End ever had. And his lands were so close to King’s Landing, he did not want people to gossip about her or speak ill of her because of her love for these unlady like things. A septa and lady companions would see her to rights, Robert thought. They would keep her company during her days, making her forget all about these notions she had about women being allowed to practice the sports of men. Besides, Robert hoped she would be with child soon after they married.

It was when he beheld her the first time and had fallen in love that he became sure of what he wanted. Robert Baratheon had always wanted a beautiful wife on his arm, and now he wanted that one and nothing or no one would deter him from it. Not his brother Stannis who had stressed that he should marry a woman from the stormlands, not his septon who had argued that Lady Stark worshiped the old gods. Robert had made his choice.

But Ned had stalled and stalled. “My sister is too young,” he would say even though she was well past the age of betrothal. It had been excuse heaped upon excuse and one day, Ned had relented and at last taken the marriage proposal to Winterfell. Lord Stark had accepted at once and Robert had been excited and happy. The last time he had been so happy was when his parents lived.

After that, he had promised himself he would change. For her. He had promised himself he would behave. For her. He would never be able to keep to one bed, he knew as much, but he loved her enough to not bed the serving wenches who worked for him. He would send the ones he had bedded away once he moved back to Storm's End.

He had resolved to take women outside his castle. He would not parade his mistresses in his keep, before his wife. And he had promised himself he would not drink near as much once they married.

For her, he would changed. He had promised himself and he had promised Ned. He did not want to disappoint Ned.

Robert looked down at the letter that had been addressed to him. He needed no explanations as to what those unforeseen circumstances may have been that made Lord Stark change his mind so suddenly. It had to be Rhaegar Targaryen, betrothed as he was, and his antics at Harrenhal that culminated with him naming his Lyanna, Robert’s own betrothed, Robert’s own love, queen of love and beauty.

 _What right did he have to do that,_ Robert felt anger rise in him anew. _None. He had no right to do such a thing._

The letter he had received from Lord Stark had come as a shock. He thought the correspondence was about setting a wedding date. Robert had to set his people to making preparations at Storm’s End not only for the wedding, but also to welcome their new lady. He had wanted the godswood to look fit for a wedding ceremony. Ned had mentioned that Lyanna would want to marry before a heart tree and Robert would give her that. Theirs would be the first marriage performed there since House Durrandon had taken to worshiping the Seven.

Shaken up by Lord Stark’s letter, Robert had gone into Ned’s chambers and looked to see if his lord father had sent something to his son as well. It was there on the desk and was like to remain there until Ned returned from Runestone where he lingered with his brother Brandon. Robert would have normally stayed, but he had decided to accompany his foster father up the mountain instead. _I am not stealing,_ he told himself as he took possession of Ned’s correspondence. “I only want to see what he wrote him,” he said, trying to reassure himself as he broke white wax bearing the direwolf seal.

Robert had gone to Harrenhal with the very best of intentions. Ned had warned him beforehand as they crossed the Bloody Gate into the Mountains of the Moon that Lyanna had not been happy with the betrothal but that his sister would as she was bid.

“It’s her duty,” Robert had replied casually to that. “It’s her duty to marry and provide heirs.”

Ned had only stared at him briefly. “I love your sister. I will be good to her, I do so swear. I will show her that I am as good as any lord in the Seven Kingdoms. She will come to love me.”

Robert had been confident in his words but Ned had not looked convinced by that. “Lyanna is more than a beautiful face, Robert. She has a will of iron. You ought to watch your step with her.”

He did not have a sister to know how to watch his step and the ladies he knew were obedient. No, Robert had only two brothers he wished to rid himself of and had only ever known ladies who bent to his will.

When Robert should have heeded his friend’s words, he had not. But it was not his fault. The wine. The ale. It was the wine and the ale. It was the wenches that were wet and willing.

And Rhaegar Targaryen. It was him, most of all.

Robert had Rhaegar Targaryen to thank for everything going sideways. He did not think he ever hated anyone as much as he hated that arse.

Queen of love and beauty, he scoffed, thinking of that moment.

It had been weeks now since Prince Rhaegar had won his final tilt against Barristan Selmy. It was weeks since he had put that crown of winter roses onto Lyanna’s lap. It had been weeks since Robert had wanted to pick up his warhammer and beat the life out of the prince. He could not do that, so he closed his eyes and imagined himself standing over the prince’s lifeless body. It was somewhat satisfying, but not enough.

Robert had laughed when he saw the crown in his lady’s lap. His Lyanna was a beauty, certainly, and she was the most beautiful lady at the tourney and such beauty ought to be acknowledged. But Robert had not liked the prince’s attentions, not even a little. What man in their right mind wanted a princeling, and the crown prince no less, to pay attention to their betrothed or their wife? Robert may not have been fond of learning anything, but he knew how those stories went.

But things had already gone awry before Prince Rhaegar had won the final tilt and given the crown of winter roses to Lyanna.

It had begun at the opening feast and everything had come crashing down around him after that. And this letter rescinding the betrothal was the culmination of what had happened at Harrenhal.

Ned had not been pleased with him, Robert Baratheon recalled, standing before the hearth, watching the flames dance and listening to the damp wood crackle in their heat. He had told him as much the following day. “My sister is your betrothed, that is true enough,” he had said, “but you were on the verge of disrespect when you danced with her.”

“You weren’t there,” Robert had replied to him. He could have told Ned that he was half in his cups and did not remember. That would have been a lie, though.

Robert recalled standing from his table, even though his drinking companion, Richard Lonmouth, had stressed that asking the lady to dance now that he had drunk so much was a terrible idea. Richard was a friend, but he needed to remember his place. Robert had waved him off and stumbled his way to where Lyanna had been sitting and asked her to dance. She had declined politely, pleading sore feet. She had even tried to flee the hall and would have been able to had it not been for Brandon who had ensured she would not go anywhere.

Robert remembered holding Lyanna’s small frame against his body. Small and warm Lyanna, who smelled like _some kind_ of flower. He never thought to ask her what it was. He never really cared about flowers in any case.

She was so lost in his arms. Robert had found that endearing and all he wanted to do during that too short dance was bend her over one of the tables and fuck her until his legs buckled. She was a very desirable woman, Lyanna Stark was, and Robert saw he way other men looked at her with lust and something akin to disappointment for not being able to call her theirs. He saw the eagerness to please her whenever she graced them with a smile or a word.

He saw how Rhaegar Targaryen looked at her too. Robert may have been in his cups more often than not but he did not miss those looks and how those indigo eyes followed wherever she went.

He remembered how Lyanna had danced with everyone who had asked her . . . until his turn had come.

He remembered how Ser Arthur Dayne had interrupted them and taken her from his arms. He remembered the smiles she had for him, Ser Arthur Dayne, sandy-blonde haired and purple eyed, lean and tall and well-muscled and the best swordsman in all of the Seven Kingdoms. The Sword of the Morning. Even well and drunk, Robert had not thought it wise to challenge the man. So he had let her go without much protesting. He had scowled, though, to show his displeasure.

Yes, Robert remembered how his Lyanna, his love, had smiled for Arthur Dayne and Myles Mooton and laughed with that red-headed fool Jon Connington, who would not be invited to his wedding, and she had laughed with the Leech Lord’s son, Domeric Bolton too, and many others. He knew the names of every man who touched his hand to her waist or smiled her way.

And he remembered how she had resisted his congratulatory embrace after she had won the second place in the horse race. She could resist his embraces all she wanted, she was going to be his wife sooner rather than later and she would not be able to refuse him any longer.

The time was coming when the realm would witness their marriage and see him take her maidenhead. He would invite His Grace, King Aerys. And he would extend the invitation to the Prince of Dragonstone as well. And he would ask them both to bear witness to the consummation of his marriage.

Because one thing Robert Baratheon wanted to make sure of was that Rhaegar Targaryen saw and understood who Lyanna Stark belonged to. Robert would have her naked under him and he would make sure to look straight into the prince’s eyes when he took her.

That he had decided after seeing the doors of the Hall of the Hundred Hearths open and watched Rhaegar Targaryen step inside with Lyanna on his arm, dressed in red and black silks, looking every inch like she belonged to that bastard. And after they had danced, Rhaegar Targaryen’s hand had lingered on the small of her back like it was the most normal thing in the world, like he was not betrothed to another woman. And Lyanna had not protested. Where she had shoved Robert’s hand away while she danced with him, she had let the prince’s touch her. She had even pushed the affront to smiling up at him.

Robert did not understand the love the people bore the prince. The man was a snake, trying to steal that which did not belong to him.

Ned said it meant nothing. Lyanna had this inherent talent where she was able to befriend everyone, from stable boys and kitchen maids to lords. The prince was no different in that. He said the two must know each other well enough by now. They both lived in the Red Keep and when Queen Rhaella had gone to Dragonstone, Lyanna had been chosen to accompany her. Dragonstone was the prince’s keep and they had spent months there.

That had done nothing to reassure Robert. Instead, it had awoken jealousy. This was a new feeling for him. Robert was better than his brothers, he was loved by everyone he came in contact with and he had charisma that drew people to him. Women never refused him his advances, whether they were servants or highborn.

The last thing he wanted to hear was his betrothed spending months alone on an island in the middle of the sea with a man who seemed overfond of her.

And while he drank, he watched them out of the corner of his eye, playing a game of tiles and eating blackberries and cold cream from the same bowl. Like they had done this a thousand times before.

The familiarity between them was jarring. There were other ladies at Harrenhal that served the queen at the Red Keep, yet none of them had received a fraction of the attention Lyanna had received on that last evening they had both bothered coming into the hall.

Robert watched dance together and eat from the same bowl. He watched them laugh together.

Lyanna never laughed like that with him, and the prince never really laughed at all.

That was what had disquieted Robert the most. That they laughed together.

He had followed them out of the hall that evening. He had seen the prince pick up Lyanna’s cloak and wrap it around her shoulders as some men were wont to do with the ladies. It was a chivalrous action to be sure, but Robert had followed them all the same.

They had stopped and chatted before Lyanna had taken her leave. Ser Oswell Whent had accompanied her the rest of the way to her tent. The prince had watched them go before he turned away and came face to face with Robert.

He had been amiable, had congratulated him on his win during the seven-sided mêlée in the old style the previous day. Robert had won and Lyanna Stark had been nowhere to be seen. He had not been able to ask for her favor, though he was not even sure she would have granted it to him. She had not seen him win, she had not asked him about it, nor congratulated him on it. While Robert had been swarmed with giggling maids that evening, Lyanna had simply not cared.

After that, he had gotten into a barrel of Arbor gold and fucked his way through the night. And it felt good. Until he woke up in the morning and remembered all the things that he had done, like promising the king that he would enter the lists and challenge the Knight of the Laughing Tree and unmask him.

Robert had promised himself that he would be good. He already had a bastard daughter and while he did care for the girl, he did not want to have more of those. The next children he would have would be the ones he made with Lyanna Stark. But he was a man with a man’s appetites and he was hot-blooded and he needed that release that he found from fighting in the yard or between a woman’s legs.

He looked over his shoulder and the sleeping wench. Brown hair, pale skin and grey eyes. She was pretty enough.

But she looked nothing like Lyanna. Lyanna’s hair was nut-brown and tumbled in soft curls all the way down to her trim waist. Her skin was pale as the fresh fallen snow, but her cheeks would always tinge pink whenever she laughed. Her grey eyes were flecked with blue.

The wench in his bed was nothing like that. She felt . . . _wrong,_ with her wide hips and too big breasts. They bounced when he fucked her, though, so there was that, he guessed. He could pretend, he told himself, and saying Lyanna's name whenever he found his release helped things along. The wench did not seem to mind. Besides, it was an honor for her to be in his bed. Robert was the blood of the Storm Kings. Any woman should be pleased that he chose her and bedded her.

“And? Are we comparing bloodlines now? I’m sure yours descends from a bastard as well,” Lyanna had replied unimpressed one day when he had told her of her of his lineage. She had given him an icy look. “The Starks are the blood of winter, my lord and my forebear helped raise Storm’s End. If he hadn’t, your castle would be a pile of crumbling wood. Storm Kings,” she had snorted derisively before standing and taking her leave.

“Your sister needs to learn her place,” Robert had told Ned that day.

“My sister knows her place,” Ned had replied.

It was odd, Robert thought, turning his eyes back to the flames. He had always felt accomplished. But when he compared himself to Rhaegar Targaryen, he always fell . . . _short._ He felt inadequate somehow.

And he had never cared about that until now. Rhaegar was sniffing around the woman Robert loved. He would not let him take her from him. She belonged to him, she belonged with him.

He gave another cursory glance at the letters Lord Rickard had sent before tossing them into the hearth. He watched as the parchment took fire and coiled and shrunk and blackened as the flames devoured it quickly and the wax of the seal melted into the wood.

Ravens got lost all the time. Ned need not know he received anything from his lord father and Robert would not breathe a word of it to him. Ned was a brother in all but name to Robert, but acknowledging Lord Stark’s words meant that there was no hope for him to have what he wanted.

Brandon’s wedding to the Tully girl was fast approaching and Robert would travel to Riverrun with Ned.

Robert would see Lyanna and Lord Stark at Riverrun for Brandon’s wedding. He would be the picture of perfection. He would stay his hand when it came to drink and he would behave himself. And when Lord Stark brought up the letter he had sent, Robert would feign ignorance and surprise and plead his case.

He discarded his breeches and rejoined the wench who slept in his bed. He did not bother waking her, nor flipping her on her back. He mounted her from behind and heard her whimper. Whether it was for pleasure or for pain, he did not know. He did not care. He pumped in and out of her with fury upon him, the headboard hurtled and rattled against the wall, his large hand squeezing the back of her neck and his fingers digging into her pale skin. When he found his release, he pulled out of her. “Get out,” he said. “And don’t come back.”

The wench got up from the bed quickly, gathered her strewn clothes and left the bedchamber hurriedly without looking back at him. He felt bad for that, when he saw the red marks he had left on her soft skin. He almost called her back to apologize. He didn’t, though. Instead, he got up and poured wine into his goblet and drank deep. He poured another and looked at the fire that was now roaring in the hearth.

Rhaegar Targaryen may be a dragon, he told himself, but he was the Storm Lord, and dragons did not fare well in the storm. Robert Baratheon would clip those wings and have his lady.


	18. 16: Tipping Point

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhaegar and Lyanna's secrets are out.

“Your Grace,” the voice had come from the antechamber. Rhaegar dipped his quill in the inkwell and continued writing.

“What is it?” He gazed at the boy before his eyes returned to the task before him.

“You are being summoned to the Great Hall, Your Grace.” He looked back up at the page who bowed to him and waited for his answer.

 _Whatever for?_ Rhaegar wanted to ask him. _I spent my day with him. What does he want from me?_ But the page was only relaying the message. The boy went in terror of Aerys and Rhaegar had not wanted to add to it.

Rhaegar had had scant a moment to himself since his return to King’s Landing. When he had expected his lord father to rage at him, the man had been oddly amiable instead. Aerys kept Rhaegar by his side. He had him sitting in on the petitions and taking his advice. He had him sitting in during the small council meetings and listened to his thoughts on this or that matter.

And he _spoke_ to him.

He spoke to him the way he used to speak to him _before_ Duskendale and _before_ the madness and _before_ he started hating him. For a few short moments here and there, Rhaegar would feel himself soften as he caught these glimpses of the father he had once loved and then lost, a father who had been absent from his life and that Rhaegar had sorely missed.

He was not dupe, though. This version of his lord father had made its appearance only after Rhaegar had returned from his trip according to Oswell and Arthur and Ser Gerold. And Rhaegar had resolved to take this new development an hour at the time.

“Please tell him I will be there shortly.”

Rhaegar put down the quill and tidied up the scrolls that were strewn across his desk before pushing out of his chair. He tucked his tunic back into his breeches, threw on the black jerkin he had been wearing earlier. He had been back in King’s Landing for some six weeks now and he missed the peace and the quiet and the simplicity of the life at Winterfell. Life there was something a man could get used to.

He missed Lyanna most of all. He missed her smiling face and hearing the teasing and the laughter in her voice. _Soon,_ he told himself every morning when he woke and every night when he laid alone in his too large bed to sleep. _Soon,_ he told himself to make his days bearable. He often caught himself wondering what she was up to.

Once he was done lacing his jerkin, he buckled his sword belt around his hips and donned his long surcoat. Maester Walys had been right. Spring was over. There was a chill in the air that foretold of snow. _False spring,_ the maester had called it.

It reminded Rhaegar how utterly useless Pycelle was. When Rhaegar had mentioned that he noticed the days becoming shorter and expressed that spring was at an end, the Grand Maester had chuckled and dismissed him as though he had been no more than some stupid young boy. Rhaegar had seen the notes Maester Walys had made while he was at Winterfell. The man had been too clever to err.

He was not laughing now, Pycelle, after they had received a white raven from the Citadel announcing the return of winter. Sitting with the Small Council, Rhaegar had looked straight into the old man’s eyes and smirked at him. How his grandsire and father had suffered the man’s incompetence was beyond him.

Myles and Jon were in the yard. They were both due back to their respective homes soon, but they were by his side at once when they saw him. “What’s it about?” Jon whispered. Rhaegar shrugged. “I don’t know.”

Slowly, they made the trek to the Great Hall. Ser Jaime bowed his head and opened the door for him while his two companions remained outside. Half the court was present when Rhaegar entered the throne room. It made his step somewhat falter but he squared his shoulders and continued on his way. “Your Grace,” he bowed to the king, “you summoned me?” Hard as he tried to figure out what this was about, he failed.

Aerys was staring at him from the throne with displeasure writ on his face. _The storm is coming,_ Rhaegar realized. “Our cousin Robert has sent us an invitation to his upcoming wedding,” he said.

Rhaegar narrowed his eyes at that. “Has a date been settled on, Sire?”

“Not as yet, but he would like for you and I to take part in the celebration and bear witness to the bedding. Your beautiful Lady Lyanna with those rosy lips and the stag in a large feather bed,” he needled him. Rhaegar felt his fingers twitch. “At least you didn’t muck that betrothal up like you did your own.” Aerys looked down at him with naught but scorn.

 _That marriage and that bedding will never happen,_ Rhaegar wanted to reply, but he kept his mouth shut. He wondered if the idea to have him bear witness to the consummation had come from Robert or someone else. “You will be leaving for Dorne to fix your mess,” Aerys continued.

 _Dorne?_ Rhaegar had forgotten about Dorne until Arthur had informed him upon his return that Aerys had sent a raven to Sunspear to set a wedding date. It was something Aerys had not mentioned at all to him. Rhaegar thought that whatever the reply Doran Martell had sent, it was not one that pleased his lord father.

“Doran Martell has decided that his lady sister will marry someone else and you have to convince him otherwise,” Aerys was saying. “This is your doing, Rhaegar. You did _this!”_ the king’s voice rose, shrill. “You crowned that girl at Harrenhal and undid your own betrothal in the process.”

Rhaegar thought this topic would have been brought up by now, what he had done at Harrenhal, but Aerys had been uncharacteristically quiet about it. He shook his head. “I will not be going to Dorne,” he said. “I will not convince Doran Martell or his lady sister of anything. _I did not_ want this betrothal and Elia Martell is free to her life and to choose whomever she desires. As it should be.”

“Free to her life? _Choose?”_ Aerys’s voice rose further. “Ungrateful bitch.”

Rhaegar saw Lewyn Martell tense out of the corner of his eye. “Why would you call her that, my lord? The lady has done nothing wrong. She was prepared to do as she was bid by her lady mother. Please do leave her out of your rantings. She is a friend and I will not have her dragged through the mud to satisfy your anger.”

“I should have smothered you when you were still in the cradle, ingrate.”

This was going to go badly and he did not need witnesses to it. “Clear the room,” he commanded.

When the people remained standing and loitering about, he turned to them. “What part of _clear the room_ have none of you understood?” he asked. “I said clear the room, _NOW!_ Be quick about it! ” People seemed shocked by his outburst. Rhaegar Targaryen never raised his voice. Rhaegar Targaryen was firm, but he was also kind and gentle. Rhaegar Targaryen was the blood of the dragon, which most everyone seemed to forget due to his quiet nature. And his blood boiled. The lid was ready to explode off the kettle, he felt.

Rhaegar did not want to air out the dirty laundry in front of half the court. Half the court meant that before long, everyone who lived in King’s Landing, from the highest lord within the walls of the Red Keep to the people who made the bowls o’ brown down in Flea Bottom would know.

He saw Arthur and Oswell out of their Kingsguard garb, standing in the shadows, half hidden by the hanging tapestries, looking at him, both loosening their swords in their scabbards should things go to sour. _Gods be good, he thought, what if it came to that, having to cut our way out of the Great Hall and the Red Keep. Was it like this during the Dance of the Dragons?_ he wondered. The Kingsguard were good men, every last one of them and that it may come to blood between them was a disconcerting notion.

“I am no ingrate,” Rhaegar said once the hall had been emptied from the courtiers. Lord Varys and Grand Maester Pycelle had remained, though, as well as Lord Owen Merryweather who had replaced Tywin Lannister as Hand of the King. “I don’t know how many ways I have to explain this to you or say it before you finally get it through your _thick_ head. I made my choice of who I wanted to marry ages ago. I told you of it and you were pleased with the choice.”

“I am no longer pleased with it,” Aerys replied. “The Starks are inhuman. _Beasts._ They are wargs and worse besides.”

 _“Beasts?_ Wargs and worse?” Rhaegar asked. “What manner of tales have you been listening to?”

Aerys did not answer that. Instead, he leaned forward and smiled and Rhaegar felt his blood run cold. “Oh, you foolish _foolish_ boy,” he chuckled bitterly. “How many times have I warned you of women. They are so sweet to look upon and they will bat their eyelashes at you and smile prettily and sweetly and when you turn your back to them they plant a dagger between your shoulders. This woman has you so turned that you would shirk your duty to your House.”

“My duty to my House is to ensure that I have sons and continue our line. How would I not be doing this with Lyanna Stark? You did not choose her for me, therefore she is not good enough?”

“I have issued an arrest warrant for your little lady love.”

Rhaegar felt the breath whoosh out of him. An arrest warrant for Lyanna? He had to have heard him wrong. “I think I misheard, Your Grace.”

“You did not. I have sent men to arrest your beloved she-wolf. Beautiful Lyanna Stark, slender and quick to laugh with eyes that sparkle like the most precious of gems when she smiles.”

Rhaegar looked around the hall, at the faces. Ser Barristan and Lewyn Martell had not known of that, judging by the way their eyes had widened. “Your Grace, this kind of arrest should be conducted by a member of the Kingsguard,” Ser Gerold turned toward the king as he spoke, using that tone he used whenever he was trying to placate Aerys. “Lady Stark is the daughter of the Warden of the North, Sire.”

Aerys dismissed his lord commander with a hand. “And why would I send a Kingsguard to fetch her?”

“Because she is more like to come quietly with a Kingsguard, Your Grace,” Ser Gerold replied. “Lady Lyanna knows Ser Oswell and Ser Arthur well. I could go myself or send one of them to find her. Ser Arthur . . .”

“No, I said,” the king spat out. But Oswell had already vanished from the Great Hall while Arthur remained hidden in the darkness. Oswell would see her safe, Rhaegar would stake his life on that.

"You were just talking about attending her wedding to Robert Baratheon."

"Robert Baratheon will thank me for ridding him of her once he finds out Lady Stark is a little rebel."

 _A rebel? What was happening?_ “On what grounds have you issued this arrest warrant?”

“Treason.”

 _“Treason?”_ Rhaegar stared at his father bewildered. _This was unadulterated madness,_ he thought. “Lady Lyanna has committed no treasons.”

“Hasn’t she?” Aerys demanded.

“Whatever evidence you have, it is fabricated. Lady Stark has done nothing.” What frightened Rhaegar was how sure of himself his father was, that he seemed to believe whatever information he had been fed. The way he was leaning and gripping the Iron Throne, and the way he was smirking down at him. “Lord Varys, if you would please enlighten my fool son,” his lord father commanded.

Varys inclined his bald head and Rhaegar watched him warily. “Lady Lyanna Stark donned an armor during the tourney at Harrenhal and entered the lists under the guise of the mystery knight; the Knight of the Laughing Tree.”

“And?” Rhaegar asked. He felt his heart hammer away in his chest. “What does it matter if she did? How is this treason? I fail to see it. Mystery knights are an integral part of tourneys. The only people that were hurt were the three knights that were challenged and unhorsed.”

“The last mystery knight to enter a tourney before Harrenhal was Simon Toyne and he tried to murder you, my prince,” Lord Varys whispered.

“I know what happened at Storm’s End, Lord Varys. I was there. This mystery knight challenged a Frey, a Blount and a Haigh,” Rhaegar argued. “They did not come near my pavilion, and when time came to ransom the mounts and armors, they did not keep a single thing and did not ask for coin, they only demanded that the knights teach their squires honor. This person was not intent on murder.”

“My lord,” Varys replied, “His Grace said during the tourney that the mystery knight was no friend of his.”

“Lyanna Stark would not put on an armor and risk being unmasked if she fell to one of the knights she had challenged,” Rhaegar said firmly.

“You think I have not seen her riding at the quintain?” the king asked. “She is quite good.”

“Riding against a sandbag and a seasoned knight are two very different things. What proof do you have that it was her?” Rhaegar asked.

“One of my little birds saw her removing her helm after she defeated the Frey knight.”

“That is hardly proof of anything, Lord Varys. Lyanna Stark always enjoyed the sport. My lord father just said he saw her riding at the quintain.”

“It was her,” Lord Varys said with an assured voice. “My little birds bring me only sound information.”

“Be that as it may. Again. I ask you, Your Grace. How does one dressing as a mystery knight and entering the lists translate into treason? Will you now outlaw a practice that has existed since the time of the Andals?” This was all too much and Rhaegar found himself reeling from all of this. This Harrenhal business was unraveling before his very eyes.

“I am the lord of these Seven Kingdoms and it is treason if I say it is treason.”

“You would be a tyrant? Is this how you want the histories to remember you and your reign after you have gone from the world?”

“My lord,” Owen Merryweather tried to intervene as he was wont to do whenever tempers flared. He was a meek man this Hand of the King and he had the thankless job of trying to stand between him and Aerys. He would have been better suited running his own hall than trying to run two Targaryens.

Aerys ignored them both. “Worry not, my son,” Aerys said to him with taunting voice and a feral smile, “you will get to see the woman you love so much one last time when she is brought before me in fetters. A she-wolf in chains,” he sighed contently. “It should be a pretty sight, don’t you think?”

“Please, Father, _do not do this,”_ Rhaegar pleaded. He seldom called Aerys ‘Father’ anymore. That connection had been severed long ago. “Lyanna has done nothing wrong.”

Aerys stared at him for a heartbeat. “She sat in that hall and pretended not to know who the Knight of the Laughing Tree was. Beg and plead all you want, the answer will still be no.”

 _“No?”_ Rhaegar asked. He understood then, his lord father’s behavior toward him since his return to the capital and how he had been lulled into this false sense of security. “You would bring the northmen down on your head? Is that what you want? The northmen love the Starks. That is where their loyalty lies and they love their lady. They will protect her.”

 _And so will I._ “The north remembers, my lord.”

Aerys snorted at that. “The north remembers that Torrhen Stark bent the knee to Aegon the Conqueror.”

“Need I remind you that _you_ are no Aegon the Conqueror?” Rhaegar asked his father sarcastically. Aegon was not paranoid of his sisters or his sons, nor was he mad.

“I will have your tongue out one of these days, traitor, and paint the floors and walls of this keep red with your blood. See how much you like it when you can no longer speak or sing. Were I you, I would ask Ser Ilyn Payne how it feels. You’ll be getting no words, however, only grunting.” He paused. “You heard me. _Go, now._ You will be leaving for Dorne at first light.”

Rhaegar unbuckled his sword belt and handed it over to Ser Barristan. He would not want anyone to think he was going to murder his father and king. Slowly, he ascended the steps that led up to the Iron Throne and where Aerys had been seated. The last time he had climbed those steps was when he was a boy. Aerys had sat him on his knee while he listened to petitions. It felt like a lifetime had come and gone since those days. “I said I will _not_ be going to Dorne and you will call off your dogs!” he said as he kept marching up.

“No, I’ll not call them off,” Aerys replied, recoiling in his throne as Rhaegar came closer and closer to him. “They will bring her here by any means necessary.”

Rhaegar knew the meaning of that. Lyanna would be manhandled. They would drag her here dead or alive. “You will _not harm a hair_ on her head.” He leaned forward and slammed his hands on the arms of the Iron Throne. He felt cold sharp metal against his palms and fingers, the sting of the barbs of the melted swords against his skin. “You will not know a moment’s peace if harm comes to her. _Do you hear?”_

“I will _kill_ you,” Aerys sneered at him. “I will kill you!”

“Kill me and be cursed for a kinslayer,” Rhaegar replied as he stood straight. “What is it that you want from me? You want me to abdicate my claim? Is that it?” he asked. His voice traveled through the Great Hall and bounced off the walls. He heard his words echoed back at him and he did not find himself regretting them. Abdicating had been such an abstract idea, something he had thought of, and something he had discussed with Lyanna and his nearest friends. He waited to feel a twinge in his heart. It did not come. “I never wanted any of this. I want none of it and I want none of you or your bloody legacy.”

“My prince, no,” Ser Gerold said from the bottom of the steps. “Do not say such things in anger.”

“This is not said in anger, Lord Commander. It’s something I have give a lot of thought to. I am quite done with this mummer’s show.” He stared his father down. “I am sure the rest of your Small Council will be beyond ecstatic over the news of my abdication. They have been waiting to be rid of me for so long. Now they get what they want and you will find yourself isolated because of their poor counsel.”

“Your Grace, please. Cooler heads will prevail on the morrow,” Ser Gerold insisted.

Rhaegar turned around and descended the steps. “He has sent men to take Lyanna prisoner for having the audacity to dress in armor to defend the honor of a boy who had taken a beating for being different,” he said. “She deserves to be acknowledged for her courage. She deserves to be rewarded for what she did. What she doesn't deserve is a noose or a headsman.” _Or to be fed to the flames._ He looked at the old knight. He had known Ser Gerold his entire life. It pained him to look at that lined face. “I want to be left alone. I want to live my life in peace with my wife by my side, Ser Gerold. That is all.”

 _That is all,_ he thought. He knew it sounded ridiculous in others’ ears. But Ser Gerold was eyeing him with understanding. It was more than what Rhaegar felt he deserved from someone as honorable and dutiful as the old knight.

This was not the prudent course and who knew how wroth Aerys would become after this. It may be that it would take him a step closer to forfeiting his life, but Rhaegar was tired of prudence. He was sick onto death of secrets and weary of waiting for the right moment to tell the truth. What was the right moment?

All of this was of his own making. He had made his bed.

He should have told the truth long ago. And to think he believed his father was mad in the days and weeks that had followed his escape from the Dun Fort. Was it the way he had dealt with the Darklyns and Hollards that had frightened him so? Rhaegar had stood there and witnessed every beheading and seen Lord Darklyn’s Myrish wife’s tongue and female parts torn out before she had been fed to the flames, alive.

His father had taken a page from Tywin Lannister’s book and near exterminated two Houses that had traced their lineage all the way to the Age of Heroes.

Rhaegar had left Duskendale sickened and stricken and afraid, wondering what happened next. Even after all that depravity, that Aerys seemed tame by comparison to the one who was looking down at him from his throne.

Rhaegar had no one to blame but himself, he knew as much. He could have put an end to the insane accusations that he had meant to marry Cersei Lannister and steal the throne by telling his father he had married Lyanna. He could have put an end to the rumors and the gossip with one word. He could have revealed that he was married when he was told he would be betrothed to the Lady Elia.

He had had no lack of opportunity to tell the truth. The right moment had come and gone several times and Rhaegar had never acted. He had hung on for so long to this thought that his lord father would get better. But those were excuses meant to alleviate his conscience.

He was not sure what all of this made him. Was he weak? Was he a coward? Had he become so used to the lies that they weighed little in his life anymore? He had put the life of the woman he loved in danger because he would not act. He could never forgive himself for that.

 _I should have, I should have, I should have,_ the little voice chanted in his head.

The plans he had made with Lord Stark had come undone at the seams by the eunuch.

 _This is all too convenient,_ he thought. Brandon Stark’s marriage was supposed to take place in a little while. Could the eunuch have found out the plans he had made to go to Riverrun and meet with the lords there? Could he have found out he meant to discuss calling a Great Council to see to the regency of the realm? It was clear enough that Varys knew it was not Summerhall he had spent time at. It seemed to Rhaegar that Varys may have been sitting on the information he had on the mystery knight of Harrenhal until he needed to use it against him. And he used Lyanna as bait. Rhaegar had never thought the man so cruel. He was wrong.

He had been wrong about a lot of things.

 _“Your wife?”_ Aerys shrieked at him, lurching to his feet.

“You heard me,” Rhaegar faced his father. “My wife.” He looked to Lord Varys who seemed shocked by the revelation. “What’s that now? You did not know of it, my Lord of Whisperers? You must be so pleased with yourself, I imagine, now that you know of this. Serve the realm, huh? I don't think you serve the realm. I think what you want is war,” he poked at the man’s chest with his finger.

“No, I do not,” Varys defended himself.

“Don’t you? Since you have arrived here, all you have done is feed the flames,” Rhaegar replied hotly. “Yes, Lord Father. The Prince of Dragonstone has taken a wife and has been happily married for much _much_ longer than a year. And there has been no _greater_ joy in my life than her." He felt almost feverish as he spoke. "And before you ask, the marriage was consummated. A thousand times over. You may rest easy on that front if the next words out of your mouth are that I must cast her aside.”

“You dared _defy_ me?”

“No. I did not defy you. _You_ made promises _you chose_ to forget because you put it in your head that I meant to ally myself to Tywin Lannister of all people. I married Lyanna following the assurances _you_ gave me.”

“I see what you are doing. You think you can remove me from my throne with Lord Stark’s northmen? You think you can use the riverlands and the Vale of Arryn against me? I am the _rightful_ king of the Seven Kingdoms!” Aerys’s face was red from anger and Rhaegar could see his father’s chest heaving with every breath he took even from where he stood.

“How many ways do I have to say this so that you may finally understand?” he asked. “I want neither your crown nor your throne. You are welcome to them. I just want to be left in peace with my lady. I want to be able to raise my children in peace. _Away_ from you.” Rhaegar looked down at his hands. They had stung badly when he had slammed them down on the barbs of the Iron Throne. He thought he had torn them to shreds.

He lifted them up, his palms facing forward, his fingers wiggling to show Aerys. “No blood, Father, not a single drop. Not even the _smallest_ of cuts. That ought to make you question how deserving you are of being the lord of these kingdoms.” _King Scab,_ he almost called him, but that would have been several steps too far.

Rhaegar took his sword belt from Ser Barristan and buckled it around his hips. “Lord Merryweather,” he looked at the Hand, “I am sure you will be bringing these happy tidings to the Small Council, that the Prince of Dragonstone has forfeited his crown and his seat. May the Father Above judge you all justly for all your conniving and schemes and taking advantage of a sick man when your time comes. I imagine there is a place in Seven hells for the likes of you.” He turned away and began walking toward the door.

“I have not given you my leave,” Aerys yelled.

Rhaegar looked at his father over his shoulder. “You can arrest me and throw me in the black cells,” he told him. “But whatever you do, know I will be leaving. By this door or through the sewers, I _will be_ leaving.”

“Would that you had died like your poor brothers did,” Aerys shouted.

Rhaegar turned around and faced his lord father, his ire rising. “And would that you had died in the flames of Summerhall. Better men than you died that night.” He regretted his words instantly. He shook his head with dismay. “Whatever your Small Council has said about me all these years, know that I was never your enemy. I never wanted to usurp you. You were my father and I loved you. You will never know how sorry I am that this is what we have come to. I should have tried harder. As your son, I failed you and I could not be sorrier for it. But _none_ of this changes what you have become. Sending men after a lady who has done no wrong except to defend the weak? You swore to do this very thing, to defend and protect the weak, when you were knighted and again when you became king. You can still do the right thing and call them off.”

“I don’t believe I will.”

They stared at each other for what seemed an eternity. But Rhaegar had wasted enough time and enough energy here. He had Lyanna to find and whisk away to safety. “Have a care they don’t find you impaled upon the chair like they did Maegor the Cruel,” he said as a parting shot.  

He turned away from him, pushed the doors open and exited the Great Hall. _This may be the last time I set foot here,_ he thought as he stepped out. He felt some relief. Ser Jaime was no longer there, he saw, replaced by Jon Darry. “Farewell, Ser,” Rhaegar said.

“If you find yourself in need of assistance, Your Grace, go to Darry. My brothers will help you,” he murmured.

“I’ll not drag your House into this, but I thank you, just the same.” Myles was standing off in the corner, his face blank from expression. “I fetched your chainmail and Jon has seen to your armor. The horses have been saddled,” he whispered and Rhaegar nodded at him.

They headed straight for the stables and saw that Oswell’s horse was gone. Rhaegar knew he was headed north to try and intercept Lyanna.

Where she was in the riverlands was anyone’s guess. Rhaegar had known when she would leave Winterfell and that she would seek passage from White Harbor to Maidenpool, then head for Raventree Hall to visit their Blackwood kin and finish the last leg of her trip to Riverrun with them and her brother Brandon.

Arthur arrived shortly after him but didn’t ask him any questions. They mounted their horses and rode to the Dragon Gate. The kingsroad north lay beyond it. The gold cloaks barely looked at them when they galloped through the gate, but Rhaegar would not feel safe until they put leagues upon leagues between them and King’s Landing. Oswell would have taken the Iron Gate onto the Rosby Road, while Jon would have left through the Mud Gate. That was the gate he used to go home to Griffin’s Roost. It was as well that they did not use the same gates.

“Your Grace!” the voice came behind him.  Jaime Lannister arrived. He had changed out of his whites and into darker clothes. “Take me with you, Your Grace.”

Rhaegar stared at him for half a heartbeat. “I cannot, Ser. All our heads are at stake, why would you want to add yours to the lot?”

“But I can help you! I can fight!”

They both dismounted. “Ser Jaime . . .” This was the son of Tywin Lannister, he reminded himself. And if Rhaegar had ever trusted the man, that was broken and beyond repair.

“I have known a while that you were married to her. To the Lady Lyanna, I mean, and I have not told a single person of it. Not my lord father, nor my sister. You were in the godswood. I saw you there, sparring. You called her your wife”

Rhaegar shook his head wearily. “And why would you keep this secret?”

“For loyalty,” the boy replied without hesitation and he looked so earnest that Rhaegar believed him. He was not that much older than Lyanna, he remembered, and the two got along well.

“Aren’t you loyal to your father, to your House?” Rhaegar asked.

“I am. But it’s not the same. I promise you can trust me. I will keep your secrets. My father would have killed for this information, yet I told him nothing of it. I could swear you my sword . . .”

“Those are dangerous words to speak, Ser Jaime, especially after what has just happened in the throne room,” Rhaegar interrupted him and put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “My lord father would like nothing more than to send Lord Tywin your head.” He was touched by the boy’s loyalty, but he did not know what else to say to him. He saw some hesitation from the young Kingsguard. “You cannot trust Grand Maester Pycelle. My lord father burned the letter Lord Stark sent His Grace about a betrothal between you and the lady,” Ser Jaime finally said. "Pycelle gave it to him."

“I told you Pycelle was Lord Tywin’s creature,” Rhaegar turned to Arthur briefly. He was certain Lord Tywin would be briefed on everything that had happened between him and Aerys. “Ser Jaime, I will need you to remain here. Do nothing and say nothing that will put your life in danger. I will let you know if I have need of you.”

Jaime Lannister looked disappointed that he was ordered to remain, but he nodded his head nonetheless. “As you say, Your Grace. I will keep my eyes and ears open and you will find me the day you have need of me.”

“Thank you, Ser Jaime. I will never forget the kindness you have done me nor will I forget the loyalty you have shown me.” He mounted his horse once again and galloped away from King’s Landing.

“We have to find her,” he told Arthur and Myles, “before Aerys’s men put their hands on her.”

“Oswell will keep her safe,” Arthur said.

Oswell had more than an hour head start on them already. “Only if he can find her first. And he is just one man,” Rhaegar replied. Who knew how long it had been since Aerys had sent his hounds out and where they were headed or how many they were.

He felt nothing but dread as they galloped toward the riverlands. Once they found her, he would send a raven to Winterfell to inform Lord Stark of what had happened on this day. Rhaegar hoped the raven would reach him before he left his lands.

For he and Lyanna, it would be exile.


	19. 17: Hunted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lyanna is faced with the consequences of her actions.

She had begun feeling ill shortly after she had boarded the ship at White Harbor. There had been storms on the Bite and just when she thought they were in the clear, the winds had risen on the narrow sea and Lyanna had remained in her cabin, seasick and retching whatever she ate or drank.

She had never been so grateful to hear the captain announce their arrival at Maidenpool. She had been exhausted arriving there, opting to remain at the inn near Jonquil’s Tower. Both she and Rhaegar had stayed there some years past, before they had been anything more than friends. He told her he had almost stayed at the inn by Fool’s Gate, but had changed his mind at the last second.

“But you are a fool,” she had said to him.

“I am, my lady. As great a fool as ever lived, and a great knight as well.”

“A fool and a knight?” Lyanna had asked playing the part of Jonquil. “I have never heard of such a thing.”

“Sweet lady,” Rhaegar had said with a shrug and a fond smile, “All men are fools, and all men are knights, where women are concerned.” They had laughed afterward at the silliness of it all.

Lyanna smiled at the memory as she raced ahead of her small party. She thought back on the days she had spent at Winterfell with Rhaegar. In all the years she had known him, she had never seen him so relaxed. Not even when they were on Dragonstone.

Maybe it was that he was so very far away from King’s Landing and Aerys’s reach. Rhaegar at Winterfell laughed wholeheartedly and he smiled and chatted amicably with Farlen in his kennels and Hullen in his stables and had asked Mikken pointed questions about the possibility of folding obsidian and steel together.

At Winterfell, Rhaegar had no need to hide behind that façade he had crafted for years. He did not hide in the shadows to have a sense of what people were up to. He just was. He spent hours in the library going through old journals that had belonged to the lords of Winterfell, reading through them with interest. Together they spent hours with her lord father in his solar, discussing how best to see to the needs of the Wall and the north.

And they spent their free time riding in the wolfswood and bathing in the hot pools. And at night she fell asleep with her head pillowed upon his chest and her body pressed against his.

Rhaegar had been unburdened and happy. And so was she. It was like having a weight lifted off her chest. And it was especially true after having resolved the issues she had had with her lord father. For the first time in a long time, Lyanna had left Winterfell with a measure of sadness. For all the dread she had felt going back home after the tourney at Harrenhal, she and Rhaegar had both left the old castle and the north far too soon.

She thought she would have left Maidenpool earlier. But she had lingered there longer than a week as she slowly recovered from the ordeal of her journey. Next time, she resolved, she would ride through the Neck. It made the journey longer to be sure, but Lyanna would take the long way over retching the bile in her stomach every time.

She had gone up to the castle upon her arrival. Myles’s lord father had offered her comfortable chambers in his keep for as long as she wished to remain, but Lyanna had declined. Instead, she had sent a raven to Winterfell, letting her lord father know she had been delayed by the storms, but had made it safely. Maester Walys would take care of sending a raven to Riverrun to let Brandon know not to expect her.

Lord Mooton stood bannerman to Lord Hoster Tully and had suggested that they travel together to the wedding. Lyanna would have accepted that offer had she not had a prior engagement, so instead, he had insisted that she took three of his men-at-arms to see her safely to Raventree Hall. Lyanna had been grateful for that. She had told her lord father that Rhaegar would send her men to accompany her, while Rhaegar was under the impression that Winterfell men would be with her. Lyanna had been looking forward to riding through the riverlands unhindered but she did not think either men would be impressed or pleased with her. Rhaegar would likely bite her head off over it when he found out. _“Freedom should not be reckless,”_ he would likely say to her.

Given how ill she had felt, though, the more prudent course had been to accept Lord Mooton’s men.

She had wished she had taken the Mootons up on their offer to spend however long she needed within the walls of their castle and visit with the maester to see to this chill she had caught. “Forgive me for saying so, my lady, but you look unwell,” Lady Mooton had said with concern. Lyanna had already known that. She looked positively green from her journey, she had seen as much in her looking glass.

“The journey was not without its difficulties, my lady. There are terrible storms on the Bite and the narrow sea with the return of winter. It made the crossing a challenge for all aboard. I was never so grateful to see your castle rising in the distance.”

She had retreated to the inn after that and remained there, though Lord and lady Mooton had been kindness personified, sending her a handmaid from their castle to attend to her needs and meals that she could barely eat.

Lyanna had been happy to find Comet in the stables. She had been happy to saddle her, and it was well past midday before she galloped away from Maidenpool at last. Her stomach was still sensitive and she couldn’t look at food without wanting to retch, but she was much better than when she had gotten off that cursed ship.

She had not been on the road two hours that the snow had begun falling. Lord Mooton’s men wanted to stop at the next inn they would come upon, but Lyanna had not desired that. She had been cooped up too long and she needed this. She was of the north besides and this falling snow in the riverlands was nothing. “This is a summer snow at Winterfell, ser,” she had said. “We will ride to Harrentown as we had agreed.” They will remain in the shadow of Harrenhal if it continued to snow for however long they had. Lyanna could give these men that much, at least.

But in winter, the nights fell quicker and soon they had to slow down.

The snows were coming fast and the wind had begun to howl. There were only woods around here, thick and frightening, if Lyanna was being honest with herself. It was dark and Lyanna was beginning to wonder if she shouldn’t have remained at Maidenpool another night and left in the morning instead of the very late afternoon.

“I think we were followed, m’lady,” one of the men who was accompanying her said when they stopped to water their horses.

“Followed? Why would we be followed?” she asked.

But she saw them, men all clad in black, as though they belonged to the Night’s Watch. They didn’t, however. She thought they had the look of sellswords. She eyed them wearily and retreated behind Lord Mooton’s men and close enough to Comet that she would be able to hop on her back without difficulty.

“We’re here for the girl,” one of them said. And Lyanna recognized him from the inn she had been staying at. He had been there in the stables when she had gone to fetch Comet. “We will be taking her.”

“On whose authority?”

“That doesn’t concern you, old man,” the reply came. “The girl and we can all be on our way.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” Lyanna said. Her guards were going to die, she realized, whether she went with these sellswords or fled.

“Well then,” the man gave a signal. The archer brought up his bow, nocked his arrow and loosed, straight at one of her Lord Mooton’s men. The arrow punched him in the chest and Lyanna watched him fall to his knees before the rest of him collapsed into the snow, face down. Dead.

“You must go, m’lady,” a voice came behind her. He drew his sword and handed it to her. “Ser Myles once said you know how to use it.”

“The girl,” the man repeated.

“She ain’t goin’ nowhere with you,” the guard who stood behind her replied.

Lyanna ran for Comet and jumped onto her saddle and spurred her on. She felt an arrow whoosh past her head before it embedded itself in a tree ahead of her. “The chase is always thrilling,” the sellsword shouted after her as she galloped away. She heard the screams of men dying and felt her eyes fill with tears.

What did these men want with her? Did they want to kidnap her and sell her? Did they want to ransom her? If that were the case, did they not understand that it was their necks on the line. They may not know of Rhaegar, but they surely knew who her lord father was. The direwolf of Stark was displayed on her cloak.

_I should have stayed in Lord Mooton’s keep and traveled with him to Riverrun. Three good men may have died to protect me._

She heard the horses. They were coming after her and Lyanna had never been more grateful for the snow than she was now. She hoped it would slow them down.

Between two elms she rode, and never stopped to see which way she was going. She leapt a rotten log and swung wide around a tangled mass of fallen trees and brush, jagged with broken branches. She went up a gentle slope and down the other side, slowing at the top and picking up speed at the bottom. At the top of the hill she glanced back. The men were still coming after her, hard. She saw that one had pushed ahead of the rest. In their clothes, and in the falling snow and in the darkness of the woods, the riders looked like wraiths.

 _What am I going to do,_ she wondered, heart pounding. Perhaps she should just turn herself in, let them ransom her back to her lord father. But they might brutalize her, rape her and she would not be able to do much to protect herself. She looked ahead of her. A stream barred her way. She splashed down into it and climbed to the other side. There were dead leaves and roots and rocks and more felled trees. She had to slow down or risk injuring Comet. Poor Comet whose breath was coming ragged. All she had to do was keep good pace, allow her mare to recover some.

These woods were big, far too big, she realized. But she had the faster horse, she knew as much and she hoped she was the better rider out of the lot. _I need to find a field or the kingsroad._ But which way? She had lost her bearings completely. The night was dark and the snow was falling thick.

She should have found an inn when it was suggested to her, but she had wanted to push to Harrentown and then rest. _Why do I do these things?_ __I_ don’t need anyone to hinder me. I am plenty good at doing it to myself. _

She found a trail, narrow and uneven. She followed it anyway. She raced along it, branches whipping at her face. She did not know if the wetness on her cheeks was from her tears or if it was from the snow that was melting on her face or the blood that had been drawn by the branches that had scratched at her soft skin. One snagged her hood and yanked it back. For an insane moment, she thought she had been caught and was done for. What looked like a raven burst from the trees, startling her and she screamed her nerves were so frayed.

She found herself at another stream. Was it the same stream she had crossed? _Have I gotten turned around?_ She did not know where she was, but she could hear the men chasing her still, their horses crashing through the trees behind her. She crossed the stream and looked over her shoulder. _They are coming._

She had a sword, she could dismount and fight them. I can do it. _I can make them kill me here instead of dragging me away and doing to me gods know what._ If she let them take her, her family may never find her again.

Lyanna thought of Rhaegar, looking over his shoulder to catch one last glimpse of her as he rode out of the gates of Winterfell. She should have ridden down the kingsroad with him, stretched their time together for as long as she possibly could. The thought of never seeing him again weighed heavy in her chest.

She thought of her lord father who had embraced her before she left Winterfell, giving her reassuring words that things would set themselves to rights. She had believed that. Once the Great Council was called and Aerys removed from power, there would be nothing standing in the way of the truth finally coming out.

She thought of Benjen. She had told him that the next time she saw him, he would be all in black. He had smiled at that but his laughing eyes had glazed over with unshed tears. “I love you, Brother,” she had told him. “You can’t begin to know how much.”

She thought of Ned. She was no longer angry with him. She knew of his visit to Rhaegar's pavilion during the tourney and the conversation they had. Ned had never been as bold as Brandon, but he had stood in his prince's presence and spoken his truth. How can she not admire that? She and Ned had spoken, but he still insisted that Robert was her future

And Brandon. Brandon whom she adored and who had caused a scene at Harrenhal after she had been crowned queen of love and beauty. She had wanted to throttle him. She had called him a hypocrite and a fool, told him she hated him. Those had been the last words she had spoken to him. She wished she could take them back now.

They would never hear the truth from her. _I will never be able to tell them how sorry I am for shutting them out of my life and how much I love them._

Her story was only now beginning. It made her sad that it would end in such a way.

It came suddenly. Comet whinnied and reared and bucked and Lyanna found herself airborne, thrown from the saddle and onto the sodden ground. She hit her head hard and her vision blurred. Beside her, Comet was failing, and Lyanna saw that her mare had been feathered in the rump. Three arrows were sticking out of her. And Lyanna wanted to weep.

They both made an effort to get up. Lyanna’s legs shook just as Comet’s did. “You stay here, Comet. I will come back for you.” _Please don’t die._ She took the sword and ran deeper into the woods. Her head was pounding and the pain in her lower back was unbearable and she felt blood trickle down the side of her face and her left leg. _I am lost, if I don’t keep going. I am lost,_ she thought pushing through the pain. _My life will be forfeit._

She would not be able to run for long. If she climbed up one of the trees, she could hide there, but the branches were naked and all one needed do was lift their head to see her. But just as she finished her thoughts, she felt a hand cover her mouth and an arm wrap tightly around her waist, lifting her off her feet. _No,_ she tried to scream as she fought her assailant. She was pulled further into the woods.

“Do not scream, my lady. It’s Oswell,” the familiar voice whispered near her ear and the man behind her released her. Lyanna turned around and let out a sob of relief.

“Ser Oswell,” she whispered back, between two sobs. If he was here, Rhaegar could not be far behind. “I have never been happier to see you.”

His face held none of the mirth Lyanna was used to seeing. He was looking somber.

“Do you remember your sword lessons?” he asked her, eyeing the weapon in her hand. She nodded at him slowly. This sword was much heavier than the ones she practiced with or the one Rhaegar had gifted her. But she had dressed in mismatched armor and ridden in the lists against seasoned knights, holding lances that were much heavier than the ones she practiced with. She had won all of her matches. _I can do this too. I can fight and I can win._

“Ser Oswell,” she murmured. Her voice was so small, she was surprised it belonged to her when she heard it. _I am frightened,_ she wanted to tell him. _I am so frightened that we will die here._

“We will stay here,” he was saying, wiping the blood from her hairline down the side of her face with the sleeve of his tunic. She wondered if the gash was deep and if she would need to have it stitched closed. “We have some cover. If they find us, we will stand back to back and fight back to back. Whatever you do, always make sure we have contact.”

“Where’s Rhaegar?”

“I don’t know,” Oswell replied honestly. She always appreciated that from him, his honesty. “I left the Red Keep ahead of him. I don’t know when he was able to leave or if he was able to leave at all. I don't know how much of a head start I had on him. We have to consider that we are on our own and fight accordingly.”

“I think Comet may die,” she said, her voice shaking. “They killed Lord Mooton’s men-at-arms.”

“They are sellswords hired by Aerys,” Oswell explained. “He said he sent men to arrest you and bring you the Red Keep, but I don’t think he ever meant for that. I think he meant for them to kill you away from the court’s eyes.”

She startled. “I don’t understand,” she told him. “Does he know of the marriage?”

“Not so far as I know. You entered the tourney dressed a mystery knight and Aerys knows.”

Her body shook and Lyanna shook her head and pursed her lips. _Sometimes, Brandon did know better,_ she reflected. He had told her that the squires had had their lesson and that they needn’t take things further than that. He had told her to let things go, but she had not listened.

 _Actions have consequences,_ Rhaegar had told her after he had found her in the godswood. He had warned her so many times to not give into impulses within Aerys’s sight. They had even fought over it on one occasion. He had been right, though. Aerys had said the mystery knight was no friend of his and when the heralds blew the following day and the mystery knight had not shown, Aerys had been wroth, so much so that he had sent Rhaegar looking. That he had not forgotten about this should have come as no surprise to her.

Curse her and her stubbornness. Curse her for not listening to sense when someone spoke it to her. _What kind of queen will I be if I don’t listen to sense when it is called for? I have to change,_ she thought. _I have to change for my sake and Rhaegar’s too._

She had made such a muck of everything. She had endangered herself and everyone she loved and cared for.

“Ser Oswell,” she said again with a small voice. “Are you frightened?” She looked at him. His blue eyes bore into hers and she saw the muscle of his jaw jump in the darkness of the night.

“Battle is terrifying. Yes, I am always frightened going into it,” he confessed. “But once you’re in the thick of things, instinct takes over. It becomes about survival. I am a knight of the Kingsguard and my life can be forfeit without a moment’s notice and I made my peace with that when I stood vigil after taking my vows. My life for yours, Your Grace. I would not have it any other way.”

Oswell Whent was her friend and he and Rhaegar were as close as brothers. She didn’t want him to die. And especially not for her. Why should he pay with his life for the mistakes she had made?

“But this is all my doing. We wouldn’t be standing here if it wasn’t for what I did at Harrenhal.”

“You did nothing wrong,” he replied. “Any knight worth his salt would have done the same.”

But before she could say more, she heard them. They were coming for them. They both heard the clatter of hooves. “Parry,” Oswell said. “All you need do is hold your attacker off until I can help you. But if you have an opening, kill.”

 _Kill._ The word hung heavy between them. “Remember. Back to back. It's the best way for me to know where you are.”

She nodded and when she made to move, her lower back blazed with pain. But she moved anyway. She had to do as he told her. If she never listened to anything else in her life, she would listen to what he said to her. It wasn’t just her life on the line. It was his too. “If things are lost, flee. My horse is not far from here. If you hear me whistle for him, you make a run for it.”

“You’ll die.”

“It will take everything they have to kill me,” he said with confidence, “but if it came to that, better me than you.”

Four men came. Ser Oswell had chosen the place to make their stand well. It was narrow and the trees were thick and close around them. The sellswords could not remain mounted on their horses and they would be forced to come at him one at the time. They seemed to realize it too. “If you have half the wits the gods gave a turnip, you will turn around and go,” he said.

“We’ll take the girl and be on our way,” the sellsword replied.

Ser Oswell snorted at that. “I think not,” he said. “Draw your steel, sellsword, and let’s finish this.”

“You’ve already done for three of my men, you son of a poxy whore.”

“My lady mother was a Piper of Pinkmaiden. I’ll thank you not to calumny her name,” Ser Oswell said with a shrug. “And I can do for the rest of you just as easily,” Ser Oswell continued. “Eight men to capture a woman? Is that the way of it, now? Sellswords were _always_ a dishonorable lot,” he turned his head and spat on the ground.

They had been eight giving chase. But if Oswell had killed three of their numbers, then five should be left. There were only four standing there. It was the archer who must be unaccounted for, Lyanna realized. “The archer is not with them,” she murmured to Oswell as she looked up to the bare trees. She saw nothing, though.

“Aye, we turn our cloaks easily,” the man smiled. “How much are you willing to offer?”

“Your lives. You get to live longer,” Ser Oswell gave the men a most insolent look. “You should turn tail and ride away while you still have that chance.”

That did not please the sellsword. “We are obeying king’s orders. And you are far from King’s Landing, ser. It’s the king you should be serving, not some wench.”

“I am serving where I am sworn to serve,” Ser Oswell replied. “Prince Rhaegar doesn’t want her taken or harmed.”

“Prince Rhaegar is not king.”

“No, he is not, but I can assure you he has a long memory. He remembers every face, every name and every deed, small or big. He _will_ remember you.”

“Bugger him and his memory. What’s he goin’ to do, huh? Chase us across the narrow sea? Is that it?” The man laughed sarcastically before baring his steel. “I will start by killing you, then we will take turns using every hole she has, gorgeous girl like that. Tell me, sweetling, are you still a maiden?” he asked and Lyanna’s blood ran cold. “It doesn’t matter either way.” He looked back at Oswell. “After we’ve had our fill of her, I will slit her throat and let the wolves have at her. I will take back her bloodied cloak to King Aerys to show him. Or mayhaps her head. I’m sure he’ll pay even more for her head.” The other men followed his lead and drew their swords out.

For half a heartbeat, Lyanna did not remember the things she had learned before she finally recovered and blocked her attacker. Her arms screamed from the force of the strike and she felt her brain rattle inside her skull. She had sparred against Rhaegar and Oswell and Arthur and her brothers but it was nothing like this. _I can do this. I can do this. I can do this._ She did not know how long she was engaged with the man before she saw a blade pierce him from the back. He fell in a _thud_ at her feet. She looked up confused to see familiar violet eyes looking back at her. “Ser Arthur?” she asked unsure at what she was seeing. She thought she might faint from relief. But he was gone as quick as he had come. All around her she could hear the song of steel and the hooves of a horse trampling the wet ground and men dying.

It was chaos and Lyanna stood in the middle of it all. She glimpsed Rhaegar’s silver hair as he locked swords with one of the sellswords and killed him. And she caught sight of Jon Connington’s red hair and Ser Oswell had moved away from her, taking the man he was engaged with, before reinforcement had arrived, away from her. Everything had slowed around her and the noise felt distant. It felt like a dream, like she was there but not _really there._ “There’s an archer somewhere,” she may have said as she threw down her sword. Or maybe it was Ser Oswell all bloodied, cradling his injured arm who had warned them of it.

But too late, something punched through the air and she felt it pierce her skin somewhere between her hip and her midriff, off to the side. The impact from the arrow brought her down to her knees. It _burned._ It was as though someone had taken hot burning coals to her skin.

When she glanced at Rhaegar, all she saw was a look of shock that mingled with one of horror and he looked as though he was rooted in his spot. “Where is he,” he yelled looking up and then pointing.

She saw a dagger fly overhead and heard the archer scream as he fell from the tree he had loosed his arrow from.

She touched with her hand where her side lanced with pain and felt the shaft of the arrow sticking out of her and wetness all around it. Rhaegar was on his knees beside her at once, his eyes filled with fear. “I’ve got you,” he tried to reassure her, but his voice was shaking.

“You know,” she said, “for all the times I worried about you, I never thought I would be --”

“You’ll be fine,” he cut her off.

“Look,” she said frowning down at the blood, “it blooms like a rose.” Lyanna felt as though she was drunk, her words slurred some and incoherent thoughts formed in her mind. And she was so very tired. Exhausted. Her head throbbed and her lower back was on fire. She had no idea how long she had been running from her would be assassins, but she didn’t think it was as long as it felt.

Dawn was beginning to break and the snow still fell. Maybe it had been that long after all.

“Ser Oswell?”

“My lady?” he asked.

“Thank you,” she said. “Thank you for protecting me.”

He shook his head slowly. “You fought valiantly, my lady,” the Kingsguard replied and said no more as he leaned on Myles for support. His voice was as strong as it ever was despite his injuries, but his face betrayed his emotions when he looked down at where the arrow had struck her.

“Comet?” she suddenly remembered her mare. “She’s out there. I think she might have died.”

“No,” Rhaegar replied, “she is hurt, but she will be fine. Midnight found her and she led us here, like she knew where you were. That horse has always been too clever by half. We almost didn’t see her in the snow.” He pushed her matted hair away from her face before pulling her gently to him and kissing the top of her head. But when she moved, she felt the arrowhead embed further into her flesh. “Arthur my hands are not steady enough to pull this thing out. Will you please --” he asked his friend.

Arthur looked down at her and Lyanna nodded. She felt herself being pushed slowly onto her back and heard her tunic tear up to where the shaft stuck out. Rhaegar was on his knees still, hovering above her, blocking her view of what Ser Arthur was doing, holding her hand in both his shaking ones. “Do you remember when we met at Summerhall?” she asked him.

“I could never forget it. Long as I live. I was told some stealing happened there.”

“You finally admit to it?” she said with a voice shaking with pain.

“Know that I will deny every single word of this,” he whispered to her. “If anyone asks I will tell them you were delirious and this conversation never occurred.” He smiled, but it never reached his eyes.

“When you came back to Amberly that first time, I had hoped you’d come back again.”

“When I left Amberly that time, I promised myself I would come back. Just to see you, Lya.” He kissed the hand he was holding between his.

She squeezed her eyes shut when she felt Ser Arthur’s hand rest around her wound. _I’ll not scream,_ she told herself. _I’ll not scream._ When he pressed down, she bit down hard on her lower lip. _I’ll not scream._ And when his other hand took a hold of the shaft and wrenched it out, her body jolted up to a near sitting position and she screamed. Her heart hammered in her chest, faster and faster, and her breath was coming short and labored from the pain. It felt like agony. “Lay back,” Rhaegar pushed her back down gently. “Is all of it out, Arthur?” he looked over his shoulder.  

“It is,” the knight replied pouring wine over her wound. Lyanna felt warm tears streaming down her cold skin, drenching her hair further. Whatever energy remained her was gone. She felt like a rag doll. Boneless.

Jon brought clean linens from his saddlebag and handed them over to Rhaegar who wrapped them around her. “I have a spare cloak in my saddlebag,” he said. “I know you are hurting a tremendous amount, but this is the best that can be done for now. What’s the nearest holdfast?” Rhaegar asked pulling on the ties of her bloodied and sodden cloak. The wool was no longer white, she saw. It was brown from the dirt and red from her blood and it was torn in places as though she had been savaged by some wild animal. He helped her sit up and put the dry cloak over her shoulders and fastened it for her.

“We should continue on to Harrenhal. We are five leagues away or close enough to make no matter,” Myles Mooton replied as he helped Ser Oswell onto his horse. “She will need a maester and Oswell too, to see to his injuries. We’ll not find one at a holdfast and sending for one will delay things.”

Rhaegar pulled the hood of the cloak over her head to protect her from the still falling snow and the cold. He picked her up and winced. “You’re hurt,” she mumbled.

“It’s just a cut,” he said.

“What do we do with the sellswords?” Jon Connington asked.

“Leave them to the wolves. It's no less than what they deserve,” Rhaegar replied as he put her in Ser Arthur’s arms so that he may get on his horse. Her body screamed from pain, from her head that she had smashed when she had been thrown from Comet’s back to her arm where she had taken a sword cut, to where the arrow had been embedded. She felt cramping low in her belly and the ache in her lower back felt dull now. Her clothes were soaked through. She shivered and her teeth began to chatter.

She was moved back to Rhaegar’s arms. She always felt safe in his arms. This was her place, this was where she belonged. Yet now she thought she might die in these arms. And if she was going to die, then she had to make sure her last words to him were comforting ones. “I love you, Rhaegar,” she told him. But as firm as she wanted her voice to be, all she heard was a faint whisper.

“And I love you, my darling,” he said frowning down at her, hugging her tighter to him as he spurred Midnight on. “And I know you love me. And you can tell me again on the morrow and the day after and the day after that until the end of my days. You are not going . . .” His words became lost. Lyanna felt as though her head was being held under water. Her ears buzzed, his voice seemed to come from far away and his words were somewhat distorted. She closed her eyes despite what sounded like protests for her keep them open.

She wanted to make the effort for him, but her body betrayed her. She felt herself sag against his chest and everything around her became muted.  


	20. 18: Lion on the Prowl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tywin Lannister makes plans.

Tywin Lannister stared at the letter before him. _How?_ he wondered again as he read the lines for the umpteenth time.

 _“Prince Rhaegar took Lyanna Stark to bride before the events of Duskendale,”_ the piece of wet parchment written by the hand of Pycelle read. _“He has abdicated his birthright. His lady was the mystery knight at Harrenhal and is being hunted. The prince has departed the Red Keep with his men. Aerys has forbidden to all those who witnessed the quarrel between father and son to speak a word of it. He has threatened death if he hears gossip.”_

“Dark wings, dark words?” Ser Kevan asked.

Tywin Lannister handed the correspondence over to his brother and watched him as he read, his frown deepening with each line. He wished Jaime had gone with the prince. His son and heir was now hostage to Aerys’s whims.

“This was written four days ago. The snows must have slowed the bird arriving,” Ser Kevan said.

“I have known Prince Rhaegar since he was in swaddling clothes,” Tywin said. “I was Hand for near as long as he has been alive. He was a cautious boy and he grew into a cautious man. There is not a single thing he has ever done that he did not think through. This marriage is utter madness.”

“I would not call it madness, per se,” his brother said. “Lyanna Stark is no Jenny of Oldstones. She is the daughter of the Warden of the north. Her birth is as high as Elia Martell’s or Cersei’s. Had Aerys been sound of mind when he came back from Duskendale, it may be that he would have allowed Prince Rhaegar to go through with his plans as they had discussed and marry the girl he had chosen. You said so yourself.”

“I know what I said,” he replied. “It seems Prince Rhaegar took Aerys’s words to heart and married the girl.”

 _None of this was supposed to happen,_ Tywin thought. Rhaegar was supposed to marry Cersei. This was how things were meant to happen.

It had been a long held dream of his, since the day he had glimpsed Rhaegar Targaryen, a small sleeping babe, cradled in his mother’s arms that should Tywin Lannister ever have a daughter, she would become this prince’s wife. His plans were simple enough. His daughter would become queen and Tywin’s grandson would sit the Iron Throne. Tywin and Aerys had been close. They had been excellent friends. He thought such a proposal was a mere formality.

Tywin dreamt of a new dawn and a Lannister era. The dragon had never married the lion. A Lannister had never married into House Targaryen and Tywin intended that it would change.

When Cersei had been born, so beautiful and perfect, he felt that things had begun falling into place. It felt as though the gods were smiling down on him. _This is their will,_ he told himself. In one pregnancy, Tywin had been given a perfect son to one day take over Casterly Rock and the westerlands and a little daughter who would one day be called _‘Your Grace.’_

But plans were made and lesser men unmade them.

 _It was Aerys. All of this was Aerys’s doing._ Aerys and his dragon pride. Had he accepted the original proposal Tywin had made, Rhaegar would have been married to Cersei before Lyanna Stark had ever set foot in King’s Landing, before he ever laid eyes on her.

Tywin Lannister had not taken the rebuff to his original proposal well, but there was time enough. Cersei was still a girl. She was not flowered yet and maybe it had been a mistake to make that offer too early. But Rhaegar had been fast approaching the age his parents had been betrothed at and the Targaryen line had dwindled to only three members before Viserys had been born. There should have been a sense of _urgency_ to have him marry and breed. With all of Rhaella’s miscarriage and stillbirths, Rhaegar was the one who would have to provide the heirs and ensure that his bloodline continues.

To this day, Tywin did not understand why Rhaegar had not been married by the time he was five-and-ten.

He thought Aerys would be more amenable during the tourney at Lannisport. It was a tourney that Tywin had organized to celebrate Prince Viserys’s name day. The true reason was that he had hoped he would be able to announce the betrothal at the end of it. That Rhaegar had been knighted shortly before the tourney had taken place was even better.

But Aerys had refused once more. He refused to hear him, refused to entertain the thought and the terms he had used to ensure Tywin understood once and for all had been impossibly rude.

The king had pushed the affront to calling House Lannister an upjumped House, pointing to the stories of Lann the Clever and calling him less than honorable, wondering aloud why a son of Old Valyria, why the heir to Aegon the Conqueror’s legacy would ever stoop so low as to mingle his blood with that of thieves and liars and cravens and bastards. Aerys Targaryen's heir would not be married to a servant’s daughter, no matter how competent and rich said servant was.

That had been toward the half-point of the tourney at Lannisport. Prince Rhaegar had been present during his lord father’s endless tirade and had looked horrified by it. He had found him later and apologized for the words Aerys had used, but made it clear that he was neither interested in nor was he invested in a marriage to Cersei. “My lord, you have a lovely daughter and I hope you will find her a man who is better suited to her than I ever will be. I am sure any one of your lords bannermen would be thrilled with such a match for their sons.”

That had not stopped Tywin from taking Cersei once again to King’s Landing with him in the hopes that Aerys would change his mind. It was to be her second stint in the capital. If Aerys changed his mind, Tywin told himself, then Rhaegar would have no other choice but do his duty. He was a prince of the blood and he must marry where he was bid to marry.

Then she arrived, Lyanna Stark, summoned by Queen Rhaella to King’s Landing to attend her and Tywin’s plans had completely unraveled.

Tywin had not known that the prince had gone to his lord father with a proposal of his own to take the Stark girl to bride. He had not known that Aerys had approved of the idea. He had not known that he had promised his son he would summon Lord Stark to King’s Landing to begin negotiations as soon as he returned from what was supposed to be a short trip to Duskendale. He had not known that Rhaegar wanted no dowry but was prepared to pay the bride price. He had only learned of those plans after the Defiance of Duskendale had come and gone.

And with that, Aerys had become volatile. His moods swung wildly from mirth to rage to uncontrollable weeping. Tywin wondered what had been done to the man while he was in captivity, but he never dared ask. Aerys had received his knighthood from Tywin. The two had enjoyed a long friendship. But that was done. Tywin too had to tread carefully. He had doubled his household guard on the off chance that Aerys put it in his head to arrest him one day.

Every interaction was fraught with tension. Aerys changed his mind as often as he changed his robes. It was like swimming in troubled water. Aerys had become an even more difficult man to deal with and keep up with.

But Tywin had miraculously managed to sway him to his way of thinking. The north had nothing to offer but cold winds and snows. They had not been a power at sea since Brandon the Burner had put their fleet to the torch, they were rich in wood and furs, but naught else. The crown prince’s bride should come with a dowry that could not be matched, he had argued. _Why should the prince pay the bride price,_ he had asked Aerys.

“You cannot go back on your word,” Prince Rhaegar had argued. But Aerys had left the room already, leaving only Rhaegar and Tywin together. The look the prince had given him had chilled his blood. It had been filled with hate and contempt. “You are a reprehensible man, Lord Tywin," he told him as he looked away from the door Aerys had just left from. "I will _never_ marry your daughter, my lord. You are wasting your time and energies trying to make it happen."

Tywin had said nothing to that. He did not make it as far as he had because men loved him. He made it as far as he did because men _feared him._ He had shown what he was capable of when he ended the Reynes and the Tarbecks.

The prince did not fear him, though. And neither did he love him. 

Sometime later, Rhaegar had been give to the Dornish despite the prince’s best effort to stop it. He had left for Dragonstone in anger. Lyanna Stark had followed him there shortly thereafter. And that was where they had remained for the better part of a year.

“Pycelle says the marriage came before Duskendale,” Ser Kevan said.

“So it has,” he replied. Now that he knew of the marriage, it did not take a clever man to know what Rhaegar and his whore had been up to on that isolated island. No news filtered from there at all. The fisher boats Varys sent out to spy came back empty and the people who lived on the island were loyal to their lord and their lord alone.

Prince Rhaegar was late arriving at the feast, Ser Kevan had told him, after the excitement of the mystery knight, no one had really noticed until Aerys began fidgeting in his seat. He was about to send one of the Kingsguard to fetch him when the doors of the hall were pushed open and Prince Rhaegar strode in with the Lady Lyanna Stark on his arm. “I swear, Tywin, the way the girl was dressed in those red and black silks, she looked as though she was on fire from the waist up, she was a vision. Regal. The Maiden herself walking amongst mortals. And the way she held herself beside Rhaegar, she looked more a Targaryen than a Stark of Winterfell. There was something there, I tell you. He scarce left her side after he asked her to dance. They even left the hall together after Robert Baratheon proclaimed that he would unmask the mystery knight.”

What changed, Tywin deduced, was that Rhaegar had spent months with her between the walls of Dragonstone. He spent his days with her, most like, laughed with her, most like, bedded her, most like. They had come to a place where it was easy to forget one’s self. The lines had likely been blurred between what was real and what wasn't. 

Tywin had underestimated Prince Rhaegar. He had underestimated the boy’s feelings for the Stark girl. He had underestimated that he would forgo his duty to marry for passion. He had underestimated that the prince would be comfortable enough making enemies to have what he wanted.

“How is it that her belly is still flat?” Ser Kevan mused aloud. “Is the girl barren?”

“No one knows of the marriage. If Rhaegar had gotten a child on her, questions would have been raised about the legitimacy of the child,” Tywin explained. But then again, Rhaegar could have used that as a way to force Aerys to accept the marriage. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say the girl cast a spell on him. She has had him turned inside out for years now.”

“The girl is outrageously different from the other ladies at court,” Ser Kevan replied. “She is wild. She loves swords and bows and the way she rides that horse of hers, it’s as though she’s half horse herself and if she dressed as a knight to enter the lists, well . . ." Kevan shook his head. "But she has a wild beauty to her to be sure. Even a blind man can see that. I had a couple of conversations with her at Harrenhal. She is assertive and sharp as a blade. Clever. Prince Rhaegar must really love her if he was willing to give up his crown, his titles and his lands to be with her. She must be worth more to him than all those things. It’s a shame. He would have made a good king.”

“A good king?” Tywin snorted. “He is weak.”

Ser Kevan shrugged at that. “Is he? I think it takes a lot of strength and confidence to make such a choice.”

“It would have been strength had he managed to bend Aerys to his will.”

“He had until you intervened,” his brother replied. “Aerys is beyond reason now. He would sooner die than bend to anyone’s will, including his son’s. But Rhaegar has made his choice, for better or worse. And if Aerys has it his way, the prince will soon be widowed. That may be why he doesn’t want the realm to find out Rhaegar abdicated his birthright. He may think that with the girl dead, Rhaegar will return and marry the Martell wench as he was bid in the first place.”

“He will never go back to Aerys, I would stake all the gold of Casterly Rock on it. And that will be especially true if Lyanna Stark is assassinated. Rhaegar will go to Essos where he has holdings before he ever sets foot in King’s Landing again,” Tywin said. “Were I him, I would raise an army and remove Aerys by force to teach him a sharp lesson.”

His brother cleared his throat. “Did you have anything to do with what happened at Duskendale?” he asked.

Lord Tywin narrowed his eyes at him. “Don’t be ridiculous, Kevan. It is preposterous that you should even ask such a thing. All I did was refuse Duskendale a new town charter. I warned Aerys not to go. I said he should bring Lord Darklyn to King’s Landing instead and he refused. He wanted to prove me wrong. He thought he knew better. I can tell you I was prepared to raze the town with everyone in it, including Aerys.” He paused a moment, recalling the siege. “Rhaegar was more capable than his father ever was then or now. He was leaps and bounds better. He was more than ready to take the realm in hand. He had proved to be a very capable and decisive leader. He did not want his father to die behind those walls, but he understood that the longer Aerys was kept captive, the weaker the crown would look. He was prepared in the event that we would have to storm those walls.”

“If Rhaegar had ascended the throne then,” Ser Kevan said, “he was already married to Lyanna Stark. And if he wasn’t, he would have sent to Lord Stark with his marriage proposal. He was never going to marry Cersei or anyone else for that matter.”

 _Yes,_ Tywin thought, _that is true enough._

Prince Rhaegar was never the kind of man who chased tail. There had been the time Aerys had taken him to Chataya’s brothel to make a man of him after the boy had returned from visiting his great-uncle at the Wall, and there had been a girl from the Summer Isles, the daughter of a trader, a few years older than he had been. The gossips said that she had taught him more than her native language but that he had put an end to the fling after a moon’s turn much to her regret. He had been five-and-ten or near enough to make no matter.

Rhaegar had gone back to his beloved library after that, and traveled to Dragonstone and Summerhall soon after Cersei had been summoned to King’s Landing. Tywin had never concerned himself with whom the prince had his dalliances if there had been any. Men had needs and women were there to fulfill them. He didn’t care between whose thighs the prince spent himself, so long as he married Cersei. Cersei who had become a fixture at the Red Keep. The prince never so much as looked in her direction, though. Or in any other ladies's direction for that matter. His interactions with women never went beyond what courtesy dictated.

That was until Lyanna Stark had taken up residence in Maegor’s Holdfast next to Rhaella’s own chambers and two doors down from Rhaegar’s own.

Tywin had been so blinded by his ambitions he did not see. _Refused to see,_ he corrected himself. He had called it infatuation. It seems he had been wrong about that.

Tywin had grand plans for his family. Jaime was going to be his heir and tied to Riverrun by marriage. That was until Aerys stole him away and put him in his Kingsguard.

Cersei was going to be queen and one of the sons she was meant to give Rhaegar was going to sit the Iron Throne after his father. And Rhaegar may have been convinced to offer him the post of Hand of the King once more.

Aerys had taken a torch to _those_ plans. Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark had kicked the ashes into his face.

“There was a time I had considered Lyanna Stark for Jaime,” he said.

“Why didn’t you go through with it?”

Lord Tywin shrugged. “The north has nothing to offer.”

 _Lord Rickard refused me,_ he thought. He had written the Warden of the North shortly after his daughter had come to the city and taken service with Queen Rhaella. It wasn’t difficult to see why the Warden of the North had refused such an offer. He thought his daughter could be queen some day. He had even sent a letter to Aerys inquiring about that very possibility. He had burned the letter, Tywin had. He had put the letter in the hearth and watched the flames swallow the words and the direwolf seal of House Stark melt in the flames.

“Lord Stark may not know his daughter is married,” Kevan said. “If he did, he would not have betroth her to Robert Baratheon.”

“No, he wouldn’t. The Starks love their precious honor far too much to err like this. It seems the prince has his secrets and knows exactly how to keep them.” He had been married longer than a year, yet Tywin had not so much as caught a whiff of this. Nor had the Spider, it would seem.

 _Done was done now._ There was no walking back any of these past actions. What Tywin could do was try and turn this situation with Rhaegar to his advantage as he had done a thousand times before with others. The prince will remember that Tywin had been the one who put an end to the betrothal between he and the Stark girl. He may never forget nor forgive that. But could he afford to turn down the assistance of a House as powerful as House Lannister?

Tywin thought not.

“Rhaegar departing the Red Keep with his men means that he has gone to try and intercept the Stark girl before Aerys’s men find her. If he doesn’t get to her first, he will never find her,” Ser Kevan said. “The girl is rather feisty, so they may have their hands full with her. They will kill her in the end, though, but not before they do unspeakable things to her. ”

Tywin nodded his head slowly, deep in thought. “I am of a mind to send men to look for her and Rhaegar. Bring them to Casterly Rock and extend guest right to them. They will have the protection of House Lannister.”

 _Jaime. Jaime will have to leave King’s Landing and come back to Casterly Rock. Else Aerys will execute him,_ Tywin realized. He would send Addam Marbrand to King’s Landing with a message for Jaime, summoning him home once Rhaegar arrived here. He would tell him that it is his duty to help protect the rightful heir to the Iron Throne.

He assumed Jaime knew what had happened before Prince Rhaegar left the Red Keep. And he assumed Ser Arthur Dayne had left with the prince. Jaime had nothing but admiration for the Dornish Kingsguard. Tywin thought that would be enough to sway Jaime to return to the westerlands.

“Lyman Lannister did that with Aegon Targaryen, extend guest right.”

“He did, though he did not swear him his swords. If Aerys demands their return, I will call the banners.”

“It did not end well for Prince Aegon.”

“Maegor had Balerion the Black Dread. Aerys does not have a dragon. We can be grateful for that much at least.” He considered things for a moment. “With his daughter a fugitive and in mortal danger, I am certain Lord Stark will join all of Winterfell’s power to ours in protecting her and supporting Rhaegar’s claim.”

“You are speaking of war, Tywin.”

“It may not come to it. All we need do is make sure the other kingdoms falls behind us. Mace Tyrell will do as his lady mother bids him. She is far more clever than that oaf son of hers. She may hold no love for the Targaryens after her betrothal with Prince Daeron was broken, but I think she much rather like to call Rhaegar her king than Aerys.”

“Jon Arryn was shocked by Aerys’s state,” Kevan told him. “He witnessed that outburst about the mystery knight the morning that followed Robert Baratheon’s proclamation that he would unhorse him. It was not a pretty sight. He was volatile and frightening to look upon. Everyone present there has seen him. And everyone saw Rhaegar as well, dignified and poised and capable. He was spectacular during the joust. I don’t think it will be a difficult choice for anyone.”

 _Robert Baratheon may be a problem, though,_ Tywin reflected, but he thought Jon Arryn might be able to bend him to his will. Dorne like the north never took part in the politics of King’s Landing and that may work in their favor in the end. Doran Martell was a cautious man who was like to stay out of this altogether.

“Lord Stark can easily assemble twenty thousand men within a fortnight and march south through the Neck, and we can double his numbers for the same amount of time. We can even send him ships and have the northmen land at Lannisport. If Riverrun and the Eyrie join the effort, we can easily have a hundred thousand men. Aerys will have the crownlands, if even that. And Rhaegar commands the narrow sea, though the Velaryons cannot be counted on. If Aerys finds himself isolated, he may be forced to call a Great Council. Rhaegar will balk at removing his father from the throne by force. He doesn’t have it in him.”

“Why help him at all, Brother?

“Everything I do, I do for House Lannister and its future.”

 _I will demand that Jaime be released from his Kingsguard vows and resume his position as my heir. And Cersei will be his wife whether Rhaegar likes it or not._ “I want Rhaegar to owe me enough that he will not be able to refuse me anything.”

“He could choose to go to Winterfell instead. The north cannot be invaded from the south.”

“He may not have a choice of location if he wishes to protect the Stark girl. Winterfell is too far.”

“So it is.”

“So it is. There is no time to waste. I will send out our swiftest riders and knights into the riverlands to look for Rhaegar and the girl.” Tywin took a piece of parchment and began writing. When he was done, he folded the paper, poured red wax onto it and pressed his seal to it. Guest right and swords. _How could Rhaegar refuse me once he read this?_


	21. 19: Fading of the Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plans are made.

“You ought to eat something,” Arthur said glancing at him. Oswell shrugged and pushed the food around in his trencher. He could not eat a single bite if he wanted to. Neither could Arthur for that matter, judging by the food that had gone untouched.

“Did you have your bandages changed?”

Oswell looked up from his trencher to his friend’s face. Oswell had a mother who fussed over him once and his cousin Shella was driving him up the wall these last days with her hovering. She made him miss the quiet of his small cell in White Sword Tower. “Do back off, Arthur.”

Arthur threw a hand up in the air. “Lady Shella is the one who put me up to it. What do I care if you had your bandages changed? Let the wound fester and the skin mortify. The maester may need to saw off your sword arm. So long as it’s not my arm, it’s nothing to me.”

“My bandages were changed this morning,” Oswell replied with annoyance. 

“When Rhaegar came back to King’s Landing with Lord Stark’s proposal that he travels to Riverrun and speak to the lords there, the last thing I had pictured was this,” Arthur said, changing the subject abruptly. His eyes were far away as he shredded a piece of bread into the smallest crumbs. That alone told Oswell all he needed to know about his friend’s state of mind. “How did we come to this?” he asked.

Oswell scrubbed his face with his hands. _I don’t know._ “Would that I knew,” he said remembering the day they had crossed the Gods Eye to the Isle of Faces. “A smiling tree,” Lyanna had said. “I want a smiling tree.”

“And a smiling tree you shall have,” Rhaegar had replied, pulling her by the hand as they went exploring.

Oswell recalled how utterly hair-raising the experience had been looking at all those weirwoods and their carved faces. They had been looking down on him, judging him with their angry faces and solemn faces and mocking faces. It was as though they were taking his measure. _“Are you worthy, Oswell Whent?”_ they seemed to ask him.

 _I am not,_ he wanted to tell them now. _I am not worthy. Had I been worthy, we would not be here._

He remembered how delighted Lyanna and Rhaegar had been, standing there in the greenery of the isle with their upturned faces. Would that they could go back to that moment and live in it forever. Seeing how happy they were had been enough for Oswell to push through his unease.

They had been at Harrenhal for three days now. Myles and Jon had both returned to their homes with their orders, but Arthur and Oswell had remained. They were Rhaegar’s men, his Kingsguard, sworn to him. Oswell had the added bonus of being Lady Lyanna’s sworn shield. _For all the good it did her,_ he thought bitterly.

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw that arrow take her. He saw her knees buckle and the confused look on her face. He heard her scream tear through the quiet of the woods when Arthur removed the quarrel from her. He saw her tears and Rhaegar’s hands shake.

It did not matter how many times he was told this was not his fault by Arthur. It did not matter that Rhaegar had tried to reassure him that he had done all that he could. Guilt gnawed at him. Oswell Whent did not know what kind of Kingsguard or sworn shield any of this made him. If he couldn’t protect his lady and do his duty by her, how would he be able to protect his prince if it came to it? “This is on Aerys and the eunuch,” both Arthur and Rhaegar had said to him.

Where Harrenhal was a swift ride up the kingsroad from King’s Landing, Nightsong, in the Dornish Marches, where he had been fostered was a world away. But Oswell Whent had heard of the little northern lady, Lyanna Stark, who at one-and-ten was being fostered at Lord Harrold Rogers’ keep in the Rainwood. An excellent rider for her years, a centaur, they said of her. A girl who loved swords and bows and tore her pretty dresses because she did everything with reckless abandon. He had met her once, when his lord was visiting her uncle’s keep. She had been a skinny little thing, with the promise of beauty etched in every line of her face. He had not given her much thought other than realizing that she would be part of his very extended family once her eldest brother married his Tully cousin.

Shortly thereafter, Oswell had received his knighthood from his foster father and left the stormlands to return home to Harrenhal. He had been summoned to King’s Landing soon after and given the white cloak by the White Bull, Ser Gerold Hightower.

“Do you remember when he came back from Summerhall?” Oswell asked Arthur.

“You mean the time when he met Lyanna?” Arthur snorted. “I remember the sound beating he took in the yard because he was so distracted. It was Jon who let _that_ cat out of the bag.”

Oswell nodded and laughter bubbled in his throat. “Her name was the last name I expected to hear cross his lips,” he said.

_“So? Don't leave us hanging! Tell us about your girl, Rhaegar,” Oswell had asked with a smirk._

_“She is not my girl,” Rhaegar had replied. “She hit me. Square on the jaw.” He had seemed proud of that as he pointed to the spot._

_“She is as wild as a winter storm that one,” Jon had said. “You have best stay away from her.”_

_“I’ll do no such thing. I will stay away only if she commands me to stay away. Besides, I am planning on returning to see her. Soon,” Rhaegar had replied._

It had all been so odd, listening to him speak of this girl and watching color rise in his cheeks at the mere mention of her name. “You have taken a fancy to her?” Arthur had asked barking out a laugh. “Well, I’ll be!” They had teased their friend mercilessly after that. How could they not? “It may be that he likes her because he met her away from court,” Arthur had said to him one evening. "I imagine that they were both able to be themselves."

Oswell had always pictured Rhaegar marrying for duty, that his lady wife would be someone as quiet as he was. Instead his prince had fallen in love with a storm of a girl. His silver-eyed she-wolf, full of life and joy and love and chatter. _So much_ chatter! They had all seen the change in him. It was a slow thing, but the people who knew him best saw it. He was certainly a very different man with her.

“I didn’t think I would grow this fond of her,” Arthur said.

“She has a way about her . . . she is an easy person to care about,” Oswell replied. Rhaegar was as near and dear to Oswell as his own brother was and he had come to care a great deal for his little lady too. Oswell had embraced them wholly, as his family. The thought that they may lose her broke something inside him. “I don’t know what will happen to Rhaegar if she dies. Where does he go from here?”

 _“Are you frightened, Ser Oswell?”_ she had asked him before the sellswords had found them.

 _I am terrified,_ he had wanted to confess to her then. _I am terrified that I am not up to task and will not be able to protect you. I am terrified you’ll die and that Rhaegar will never recover. I am terrified losing you will kill him._

“It does no good to ask such questions. She will wake, smile and tell him he looks terrible. And he will laugh.”

“I wish I had your optimism. I will kill Varys for this,” Oswell said. “What he did. The way he dangled her before Aerys like she was an animal and this was a hunt. Nothing in the world will absolve him of this nor save him from my sword.”

Arthur sighed. “Rhaegar’s sword, my sword, your sword. What does it matter if we don’t know who we can trust? He could well be gone before we ever set foot in the Red Keep again.” He ran a hand in his hair. “With what’s to come, if he thinks things are lost, he may well flee the city altogether. He knows Rhaegar has no love for him. And now that he knows that it’s not just the Warden of the North’s daughter he sicked Aerys on but also Rhaegar’s wife --”

Oswell said nothing to that. Varys may prove slippery, that was true enough, but Aerys and his small council would get whatever was coming their way, Rhaegar had sworn. Them and Grand Maester Pycelle and Tywin Lannister.

The five leagues separating them from Harrenhal seemed to stretch and stretch before them as the snow fall had become heavier and heavier. It had done more than blanket the riverlands. It was as though the gods themselves were trying to slow their progress.

Oswell had despaired during the ride. The wounds he had sustained were paining him, but it was his lady’s state that worried him. She had been in and out of consciousness, struggling. And Rhaegar struggled right along with her. “Stay awake, Lya,” he repeated over and over, “I know you’re tired and in pain, but you _cannot_ go to sleep. Tell me about Winterfell after I left,” he had asked her, wanting to keep her talking, but her voice had been so faint, he wasn’t sure Rhaegar could even hear her. And she had been pressed against his chest as he rode his horse.

 _I should have killed all the sellswords with the bow,_ Oswell thought, but he had wanted to draw them out, to make them chase him so that he may take them as far away from Lyanna as he possibly could. He wanted to give her a chance to put distance between herself and the men hunting her. But that little plan had gone awry. They wouldn’t followed him, they hadn’t even cared that three of their numbers had been killed.

He should have known better. These were sellswords and more than likely thought there was more gold to split between five people than there would be between eight. _Curse you, fool,_ he told himself as they rode to his family castle. His failure was unforgivable.

They had gone through the cellars and tunnels that had been dug deep beneath the walls of Harrenhal as an escape route when the Lothstons still held the castle. He and Walter and Shella and Minisa had all played there at one point or another when they were children.

“How is she?” Arthur had asked.

“Not good,” Rhaegar had replied looking down at her. In the torchlight they could all see. She was in a bad way. Lyanna had been pale as a sheet from the bleeding and the pain. And when her eyes fluttered open, they were bright with fever.

“Brandon told me to leave things alone,” she had mumbled, her speech slurred. Oswell thought she sounded like someone who had fallen into a barrel or three of Dornish red. “I should have listened.”

“You must be really feeling out of sorts if you’re saying you were wrong about something,” Rhaegar told her in jest. She managed a smile before she closed her eyes.

“No no, Lya, keep them open,” Rhaegar had said, his voice betraying his panic. But that seemed to be done. “How far Oswell?”

“We’re here,” he replied after they had finished climbing the serpentine steps. He kept walking ahead and squeezed between two walls before ending in front of a heavy door. He pulled a loose block from the wall and searched out the key. A few seconds later, he pushed the door open. _The noise of the rusted hinges is enough to wake the dead,_ he thought. It didn’t wake her, though. He walked behind the hanging tapestry, the others following close behind him.

His brother had been standing behind his desk, his hand hovering above the sword. “It’s just me,” Oswell whispered. For all of his brother’s reaction, the wide eyes and the mouth hanging open, Oswell thought he must have looked a fright.

“Gods be good. What’s happened?” his brother had asked when he saw him and took stock of the people standing behind him. “Your Grace?” he had looked at Rhaegar startled. Rhaegar was disheveled. His long surcoat was torn and his jerkin glistened where his unconscious wife had bled on him.

“It’s a long story,” Oswell replied. “We seek shelter, Walt. At least until she is recovered enough to travel.”

“And you shall have it, Brother, for as long as you wish to have it. You needn’t come like a thief in the night for my help.”

“Circumstances, Walt,” Oswell said without going into further explanations. “A lot has happened. The past two days have been very difficult to say the least.”

“Your maester, my lord, please,” Rhaegar had asked, his voice shaking. “Now. She is feverish and injured. And Oswell needs to be looked at as well.”

“Lay her on the canopy. I’ll have Shella prepare bedchambers for you.”

“Walter, the less people know we are here, the better this will go for all of us. Do you understand me?” His brother had only nodded at that. “The horses are below and one of them is injured and will need attention. If Targaryen men-at-arms come calling, we never came, we were never here.”

“I will have someone see to the horses and I’ll speak to Shella. But first things first, the maester and then bread and salt and something to wash it down I should think.”

“That would be most welcome, my lord. Thank you,” Rhaegar had looked up at their host from where he had been kneeling beside the canopee, trying to rouse Lady Lyanna.

Their hosts had given them his old bedchambers and the adjacent one in a tower that had not been occupied since he had left Harrenhal. If it came to it, they would be able to use the tunnels to make their escape, and out of the castle a league north of where they were without anyone ever seeing them.

He had told Rhaegar as much, but his prince seemed to have barely heard him, turning his attention back to his lady Lyanna.

It was odd to think that it was not the arrow that had struck her that may be Lady Lyanna’s undoing in the end, but the fever that had taken a firm hold.

Rhaegar barely ate, barely rested. He only left the sickroom and his lady wife’s side to use the privy. He had forbidden the maester to leave the chambers. Anything he needed from his turret, the maester sent Oswell’s niece to fetch for him. Oswell would make his way to the chambers to have his bandages changed or to look in on his friends. But he felt like an intruder on Rhaegar’s solitude. He had been wordless in his fear and wordless in his grief.

“My lord,” the maester had spoken hesitantly to the prince on the third day they had been there. “I’m afraid we will lose her if her fever doesn’t break soon.”

“You’re the maester. _Do something!”_ They had packed snow in a wooden tub and put her in it, but her lips had turned an alarming shade of blue and she had shivered so violently that Rhaegar had refused to keep her in it any longer and taken her out.

“Rhaegar, you need rest. I will sit with her. You need your sleep,” Oswell told him. “What good will you be to her if you collapse from exhaustion?”

“I can’t,” he replied. “Her lady mother was taken by a fever. If she dies, I don’t want her to die alone.” He had taken the hand he had been holding and pressed it against his cheek like Lady Lyanna was wont to do before he kissed it and laid it back down beside her.

“The first time I ever laid eyes on her was at the Wall, at Castle Black. A tiny little thing she was, crushed by sadness. I thought Lord Stark had caught wind of my arrival and decided to bring his daughter with him so that I may meet her. Every lord I ever met thrust his daughter at me in the hopes that I would take them to bride some day or take them for a mistress as Aerys did.”

“You poor _poor_ bastard,” Oswell said teasingly. Rhaegar had never liked that, being cornered by those lords and their daughters.

He traced the shell of her ear with a finger. “That was not the case with Lord Stark, however,” he continued. “Aside from formal introductions and the worst curtsy I had ever seen in my life, she stayed well away from me, but I saw her. I watched her. Once, she caught me looking at her and she rolled her eyes at me with so much annoyance and insolence she left me shocked by it. Arthur had laughed so hard, I thought he was fit to burst his gut. He called her reaction brilliant and my uncle Aemon chuckled and called her clever when I mentioned it to him.”

Oswell barked out a laugh. He could well imagine a thirteen year old Rhaegar Targaryen confused by this. He had been so used to the ladies fawning all over him whenever he was about no matter how uncomfortable it made him.

“A part of me did not really understand what I had done to illicit such a response from her. The other part was relieved this wasn’t some blushing maid. My uncle said that the northmen were hard on the outside but all heart on the inside. Fierce and loyal and that the Lady Lyanna was just like that. Fierce and loyal. He had gone to Winterfell a handful of times and knew her well enough,” he said. Oswell thought Rhaegar was on the verge of tears the way his voice broke and the way he swallowed thickly. “It’s odd the things that I have been remembering since she’s been hurt . . . Anyway, atop the Wall, she said she wanted to run away beyond, join the wildlings and live in the Frostfangs. Even at ten, she had these harebrained ideas.”

Oswell chuckled. He pulled a chair and sat beside him. “It sounds like something she would want to do.”

“It does, doesn’t it?”

“Aye. It does. We were in the practice yard one evening. I was showing her how to bend the bow and she said something to me.”

“What’s that?” Rhaegar looked at him before his eye flitted back to her still form.

“She said that when she was growing up, she thought adventure was running away beyond the Wall or taking a ship to Essos and getting lost there. When she went to Summerhall, she believed she was going on this grand adventure. She’d never done anything like that before, never gone anywhere on her own, without any guards.”

Rhaegar’s lip tugged into a smile. “She loves life so completely and lives it so intensely. I could not help but profit from it. She always wanted adventure. I have never been able to give her that. I thought I would be able to take her to Old Volantis and Lys and show her Braavos and Pentos and the manses I have in all those places. I thought we would be able to go to Oldtown and that she may be able to see more of Dorne than our little tower on the Prince’s Pass.” He sighed. “This has been such a failure on my part.”

“You could not be more wrong, Rhaegar. She said she found her adventure when she found you. She found her freedom. She found the freedom to be who she was and the freedom to love whom she chose to love. Adventure isn’t always what we think it will be, she told me. Her life with you became her greatest adventure she said," Oswell paused. "She also threatened me to never repeat this. But I thought you should hear it, Friend. You are the grand adventure she was looking for and she found it."

“What other secrets have you been keeping for her?”

“Well,” Oswell looked at him thoughtfully. “I am sorry to say that she does find you annoying.”

“That's _hardly_ a secret. She tells me every day how bloody annoying she finds me.”

“She does it with such a sweet smile,” Oswell squeezed his shoulder in a comforting gesture. “She loves you. You are her heart, but that's not a secret either.”

Rhaegar gazed at him for a beat, then looked over at Arthur who was standing by the window, watching the snows fall. “I . . . I thought she was a gift from the gods. I have a mother whom I love, friends that are as close to me as the brothers I never had, yet I always felt _so alone,_ so isolated, bruised and battered as I was, imperfect as I am. There was this part of me that no one could ever touch. It was this place where Summerhall existed and where my grief and my duty and burdens threatened to drown me. But she came and she made me hopeful. She brought hope and light into my life,” he said. “She lifted this veil of darkness and sadness from it. She was _so unexpected._ She touched the deepest parts of me, Oswell. She gave me _wings._ It was as though the gods had heard my prayers and sent me her.” His voice was a whisper. He took the cloth from the pail of melting snow and wiped her brow and neck with it. “Why would they take her away?”

Rhaegar looked like a man whose heart had been cut right out of him.

“I don’t know what the will of the gods is, Rhaegar. But for all that she’ll not leave you. It’s not in her to give up without a fight.”

“No, it’s not in her to give up, but this fight has already come at a great cost.”

Oswell had been there in the bedchamber, having his own injuries tended to when it happened. The blood. There had been enough blood to alarm the maester. Not two hours had gone by since they had arrived at Harrenhal that the Lady Lyanna had begun bleeding anew. “Is the lady with child?” the maester had asked, shocking into silence everyone who had been standing there.

Rhaegar had looked at the maester confused by the question, before looking down at where she had been bleeding. “I . . . I mean it’s possible,” he had replied sounding devastated. “She mentioned she felt cramping low in her belly but I thought it was her . . . Can you not stop this? You _must_ stop this!”

“Your Grace, the lady was thrown from her horse. The fever she has and the milk of the poppy I gave her for the pain, her body is tired. Even under the most normal of circumstances, a miscarriage is not something that can be stopped,” he said looking through his potions. “My lady,” he turned to Shella, “I will need your assistance.”

Rhaegar had knelt beside the bed. “Lyanna, if you can hear me, everything will be fine,” he had whispered near her ear. It seemed to Oswell that it was himself his friend was trying to convince.

“Everyone leave the room!” the maester had ordered. “If it please Your Grace,” the maester gestured him toward the door.

“No, it _does not please_ me, Maester. This is my _wife_ and she carries my child and I am not going anywhere,” Rhaegar had replied. “If she wakes during this, she will not know or understand why a stranger is bent between her legs. I will not have her be further traumatized.” That had been firm enough that the maester had not insisted.

Rhaegar had not been wrong in not wanting to leave her side. Oswell and Arthur had heard her cries and Rhaegar’s voice as they stood sentinel behind the thick oaken door.

It had felt like an eternity had gone by before Rhaegar had finally come out of the room, his eyes red-rimmed. He had leaned on the wall before sliding down to the ground and sitting there, his eyes closed from weariness. He and Arthur had both joined him on the floor, sat on either side of him.

“How is she?” Oswell asked him.

“Unconscious. Her fever has gotten worse.” He sighed running an angry hand through his hair. “There is nothing more evil than failing to protect the ones you love. Not only have I failed to protect her, but I have broken the promises I made her. It is such a wretched feeling.”

“This is to be laid at Aerys’s door and the eunuch's,” Arthur said.

“Aerys, I will deal with personally. I will kill him,” he chuckled bitterly. “Oh, I will kill him and I will take pleasure in doing so.”

“You can’t say that.”

“I am sick unto death of not being able to speak what I feel. But you are right. I’ll not kill him. I will take everything that he holds dear from him just as he has tried to take all that I hold dear from me,” Rhaegar replied, wrapping his arms around his knees and staring at the door before him. “I will take his Seven Kingdoms. I will climb the steps to Aegon’s Throne while he watches. And I will look down at him while I sit it and make myself comfortable. I will makes sure he and the realm know what his actions resulted in. After I will throw him in the black cells to rot. He will never see the light of day again. By the time I’m through with him, he will wish he had died at Duskendale.”

Oswell said nothing and neither did Arthur. But Rhaegar was not finished. “And once I have dealt with him, I will take care of Varys and Pycelle and Lord Tywin. Varys will suffer just as Lyanna has before I take his head. Pycelle will confess his treason with Lannister. Lord Tywin, I will cast down. And every man on the small council is good as dead.”

“Rhaegar, you would start your reign with a bloodbath?”

“Aye. I would. Have you not seen the state of her, Arthur? She looks as though she has been through war. These men, every last one of them . . . they have wronged her.”

“They’ve wronged you as well,” Oswell said.

“Aye, they did. But it’s her who is lying in that bed. Not me. She is the one who bled our child. Not me.”

“It was your child too.”

“How can you miss something you didn’t even know you had?” he said. “That’s what she asked me.”

“What did you say to her?” Oswell asked.

“I told her I didn’t know. The woman I love is devastated by this loss and all that I could tell her was _'I don’t know,’”_ he said, his tone bitter. “I always knew I’d have children. It was my duty to my House, to the realm. I had to breed as my father and Lord Tywin put it, like I was some high prized stallion who had to fuck his way through life and provide heirs. And that was all and good because _duty._ But when that _maegi_ at Lannisport told me that I was not this prophesied savior, but a son I had yet to have would be, I started to balk at the notion of children altogether. I didn’t want this boy to carry the burdens I carried my whole life. It was too much to shoulder. But I told myself I would be better than my lord father and my lady mother were. I told myself that Lyanna and I would see our children through this, that we would make sure they were not as ill-equipped and as ill-prepared as I felt I was. When the time came we would ensure they succeeded.”

He shook his head slowly and stared at his hands. “Her blood. I haven’t been able to wash it all from my hands. I suppose there’s irony in this. It may be that I will never be able to wash myself clean ever again,” he remarked. “I wonder if it was a girl or a boy.”

“Don’t do this to yourself, Rhaegar.”

“Maybe it was a girl who would have had Lyanna’s indomitable spirit. I think I should have liked a little girl. When Lyanna smiles, the world falls away and nothing else matters anymore. I imagine a little daughter would have made me feel much of the same.” He sighed. “It’s strange how I never knew how much I wanted this not for duty but for _myself_ until the opportunity was taken from me. I hadn’t realized how much I wanted a child until the maester said there was no child to be had. It’s heartbreaking and there’s this emptiness inside me. I have no answers to give Lyanna, only empty words,” he said wiping the tear that had fallen. “Gods be good, how did we come to this? I lost control of this entire situation and Lyanna became caught in the middle. She deserved none of this,” he said before he stood.

“She didn’t deserve this and neither did you. It may be that her grief will be stronger and last longer or it may be that she will be able to move past it quickly enough. It may be that she will need you to hold her hand through this or it may be that she will need her space. You have always been good at reading her and knowing what she needs when she needs it. All you can do is be there for her as you always have and grieve with her,” Arthur said. “This child can’t be brought back, but there will be others.”

Rhaegar cleared his throat and adjusted his clothes for all the good it did. He still wore the stained jerkin and his breeches were dirty and damp from the road and torn where he had been cut during his fight with one of the sellswords.

“I will find you clean garb, but you need to see to your injury,” Oswell told him.

Rhaegar shrugged. “This is the last thing on my mind.”

“I understand, but you still need to have it looked at. It needs to be washed and dressed to make sure it doesn’t fester.”

“What do you need of me?” Arthur asked.

“Parchment and ink for a start. You will see the ravens away,” he said. “I have to send Lord Stark a letter to inform him of what’s happened here. Tell Myles and Jon I have need to see them.”

Rhaegar’s orders had been simple and clear. Myles was to go back to Maidenpool. “Bury your lord father’s men-at-arms, see to their widows and orphans. Tell them I will ensure they will lack for nothing,” he said. “Lyanna would want them to be taken care of.”

 _“Winter Maid_ should be in port by now. Give this to the captain.” He handed him the sealed letter. “He is to replenish the holds and lay anchor north of Quiet Isle. You will be on the ship and you will wait for us before you can make back for Maidenpool.”

“I’d sooner go with you,” Myles protested.

“And I’d sooner have you come with me, but I need you here,” Rhaegar replied. Myles nodded at that. “Whatever information comes through the harbor, especially from King’s Landing, I want to know.”

“What will you have of me?” Jon asked.

“You will find Lonmouth and send him to Flea Bottom. I want him to find an inn by the Mud Gate and keep watch for my ships. He is to remain there until further notice.” He gave Connington a sealed letter. “He is to learn the ciphers and make contact with Jaime Lannister. Whatever happens in the small council meetings and the Red Keep, I want Ser Jaime to relay to him. I want any and all information. You are going to return to Griffin’s Roost, Jon and wait there.”

“I can do more,” Jon said.

“Brandon Stark’s wedding. Myles, I know you will be attending. Take Jon with you. Lord Stark will want to find out more. Answer his questions. If Aerys summons him to King’s Landing, he is to tread carefully. Tell him that I was indeed at Winterfell if Aerys asks, to consult old tomes.”

“Very well.”

“Jon. Tell Richard to keep his head down and to behave himself. I’ll not have him attract undue attention to himself.”

“Where will you be?”

“I have not decided yet.” When both men took their leave, Arthur turned to Rhaegar. “We can go to Starfall,” he offered.

“No.” Rhaegar looked at him. “Whoever harbors us will only be in danger. I am already nervous for the Whents should Aerys find out we are here. We are better away from Westeros.”

“What can I do?” Oswell asked.

“Heal,” Rhaegar replied. “I will have need of you, old friend. You are Lyanna’s sworn shield, and I trust you with her life.”

“Your trust is misplaced, my lord.”

“No. It is not. And Lyanna will agree with me. You did all that you could,” Rhaegar replied with a frown. “This is on Aerys and his lickspittles. Arthur, when you’re done, get some sleep. I need to get back inside in case she wakes.”

Lady Lyanna had not woken up, though. She slept a day and a night, and a day, and as the hours passed, her fever worsened and would not break. Rhaegar helped Shella bathe her, watched the maester change the bandages. He trickled water in her mouth to keep her hydrated and fed her warm milk and honey so that she may keep some of her strength. He wouldn’t let the maester or anyone else do it.

He took painstaking care cleaning her nails from the mud and blood that had dried and caked under them. “She can’t abide dirty nails,” he had explained with a shrug before returning to his task.

But for her cheeks that had taken on a crimson shade and her burning brow, Lyanna Stark did not look sick or like someone who was slowly withering. She looked as though she was sleeping peacefully.

She reminded Oswell of those stories his wet nurse used to tell him when he was a small boy; of the princess in her tower, who had been cursed by an evil witch and slept as she waited for her prince to come for her and kiss her awake.

Rhaegar had kissed his lady’s forehead, her lips, her cheeks, her hands, her fingers, but it had not served. Lyanna Stark slept on and on.

Rhaegar had told her story after story. He had told how wary of her he was when he saw her at the Wall and how taken with her he was after they had spent those few days together at Summerhall. He told her how he had missed her when he was parted from her and how she set his heart to racing when he was near her. He had told her of the time they had been looking at the shooting stars in Aegon’s Garden on Dragonstone. “I turned my head and looked at you and I fell even more in love. I wondered how it could be possible.” Every now and again, his voice broke from emotion.

Rhaegar was holding on by a thread. It had been a difficult thing to witness. Oswell did not know what he would have done had this been him, sitting there, waiting, worrying. Perhaps being sworn to take no wives and father no children was a blessing in on its own after all. A small mercy.

There was nothing left but to bring the septon in. Oswell thought he could offer words of comfort. He and Arthur were men of action. Swords had been their lives, that was the language they spoke. What words they could have said had already been said. But Rhaegar always wanted to understand the why behind something, always wanted to push beyond the platitudes.

The septon had come with his incense and small replicas of the Seven. “You must pray, Your Grace.”

Rhaegar’s face had a haggard look and his eyes held no emotion in them. He had known no rest since they had arrived. Oswell did not know where his friend would go from here if his lady died. “I don’t understand, Septon,” he had said with a lost voice. “I . . . I . . . why?”

“No man can truly understand the working of the gods, child,” the septon said.

Rhaegar was not satisfied with this. “It may be that the gods don’t exist,” he said with a hint of sarcasm.

“The gods are everywhere, but as we sin, so do we suffer,” the septon had replied. But that had been the wrong thing to say. Even Arthur had winced by Oswell’s side.

“You were on the Isle of Faces with us, Septon. _You married us._ You spoke to her at length. Did she strike you as a sinner? What manners of sins do you think she has committed that she must be made to suffer like this?” Rhaegar asked. He did not look so haggard anymore and his eyes didn’t look so vacant. Rage burned like wildfire there. But there was anguish too, Oswell saw. “She has never been anything but good. She has helped those who had less than her, mothered a child who lost his mother. She has a true and loving heart. Meanwhile the court is filled with sinners. The very worst kind of people. Yet _they_ live. Yet _they_   thrive. And they do so at the expense of the realm. Your gods have a taste for the cruelest japes.”

“They are your gods as well, Your Grace,” the septon replied.

“So they are. Tell me, where was the Mother’s _mercy_ and where was the Maiden’s _protection_ when my lady wife needed them, Septon? Answer me that. And the child she was carrying? This child that we wanted, did it sin as well? If these are the gods we are made to worship, then I want none of them.”

“It’s not your lady wife’s sins you must look to, Your Grace.”

Rhaegar looked as though he had been slapped across the face when the septon spoke those words. “I see. She must be made suffer for _my sins?_ Is that the way of it? She is made to suffer for a secret that I kept? A lie that I told? Tell me, Septon, should I _obey_ my pyromaniac father blindly?” he asked. “Don’t preach to me about sinning and suffering and not understanding the will of the gods. You can keep your prattle to yourself. I have no need of your empty words.”

“The gods are merciful, Your Grace. All you . . .”

 _“Are they,_ now?” he interrupted the septon. _“Look at her._ Is this what _mercy_ looks like?” Rhaegar asked pointing at his Lyanna. “Did you hear her scream in pain when the arrow that pierced her was taken out of her? Did you see her tears when I told her she was losing the child she didn’t even know she had been carrying?” he demanded to know, his ire rising and rising. It was barely contained rage. Oswell thought Rhaegar was going to strike the man.

He didn’t though, but he stared at the septon and waited for an answer that was not coming. “I didn’t think so.” And then, _“Mercy!”_ he made the word a curse. “Do spare me your talk of sins and mercy. I have no need of it. Take your dolls and your incense and go. Lyanna is the daughter of the north and Winterfell. It’s the old gods she prays to.”

“The Seven --”

“The Seven can be buggered, Septon. _Leave!”_

“The gods are good, my prince. Pray. It might be that they will hear you,” the man said before he left.

Rhaegar did not reply to that. He had sat back down in the chair he had been sitting in from the first and watched Lady Lyanna’s chest rise and fall while he held her hand. An hour gone by in the quiet bedchamber, all Oswell heard was Rhaegar repeat _‘Please’_ over and over. Who he was pleading with be it the gods themselves, old or new, or his little lady herself, Oswell did not know.

“Have there been any ravens from King’s Landing?” he finally asked. They had been waiting for an order of arrest for Lyanna or a decree announcing that Rhaegar had abdicated his claim to the throne and that Viserys was now the new Prince of Dragonstone. Yet nothing had come. Oswell thought the small council would be swift and decisive in its actions, try to erase any trace of Rhaegar, forget that he had ever existed. This was something those men had been waiting for so long after all.

“No,” Arthur replied, his eyes shifting to the maester who had his back to them. He moved closer to Rhaegar and got to one knee before him, his voice down to a whisper. “It may be that he has decided not to remove you as his heir.”

Rhaegar had snorted at that. “Let him keep me as his heir and see how this ends for him,” he whispered back. “Keep me, disown me. Whatever he does is nothing to me nor will it change my mind.” But just as he had said that, he jumped, startled and looked down at where his hand held Lady Lyanna’s. “She squeezed my hand,” he said, lifting his free one and touching her brow with the back of it. He frowned and stood from his chair, sat beside her on the mattress, his hands traveling from her brow to her cheeks to her neck.

“Are you sure?” Oswell was on his feet too and Arthur had stood as well. Oswell could have sworn he heard the faintest moan coming from her.

“Did you hear that?” Rhaegar asked, looking back at them. “Lya, I’m here. Can you hear me?”

“Maester,” Arthur called. The old man looked at them and shuffled over to the bed.

“She squeezed my hand,” Rhaegar repeated. “She moaned, I heard her.”

“I heard it too,” Oswell confirmed.

“She doesn’t feel as warm. I think her fever is breaking.”

Rhaegar stepped aside for the maester and Oswell and Arthur turned their backs to give their lady her privacy. “She is starting to come around,” the maester finally spoke and Oswell felt as though the weight of the world had been lifted from his shoulders. Beside him, Arthur looked as relieved as he felt. He could not even begin to imagine how Rhaegar felt hearing those words.

“She is like to continue sleeping for now, but the worst is passed, Your Grace.” He moved away from the bed.

“Arthur,” Rhaegar said, “see to the preparations for our departure from here. We are leaving as soon as she is strong enough to travel. We need to get her away from here as soon as we possibly can.”

Rhaegar’s entire demeanor changed. It was as though life had been breathed back into him. “Lya,” he sat beside her, his head bent next to hers, his mouth near her ear. “Come, my heart,” he whispered to her. “Open your eyes. It’s time to wake up. It’s time to come back.”


	22. 20: Come, My Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lyanna has a nightmare.

He had been there by her side. She knew. She felt him. She heard his voice however faint it was as he spoke to her. Then as her body grew warmer and warmer she became lost. Lyanna did not feel Rhaegar’s presence any longer, nor did she hear his voice anymore and she grew frightened. It was as though the only thing that grounded her was gone. And as the silence around her became deafening, so did her fears.

 _I am Lyanna Stark, I have the wolf blood in me. I am braver than this,_ she told herself and so she set out to find him. _I need to get back to him. I_ have _to get back to him._

So into the void and the darkness she went with her arms extended before her so that she may feel her way.

She took one small step, then another then another but her eyes never adjusted to the blackness that was all around her. It was like a pitch black night with nothing to guide her path. Lyanna feared she would become further lost.

Slowly, as she made her progress toward what seemed to be nowhere, the smallest of lights appeared. It reminded her of a flickering flame coming from a taper.

Lyanna found herself before a pavilion of black canvas, bearing the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen, stitched in bright red thread. Rhaegar’s own shield was there, on the ground, broken and lying abandoned. She frowned at that. Rhaegar had never been one to leave his things lying around, damaged or otherwise, she thought, as she picked up the shield. The three heads of the dragon had been savagely hacked off and Lyanna wondered what had happened.

The silence all around her was unsettling. It made her nervous and she felt her throat tighten and her belly clench. Rhaegar was here, inside his pavilion. She imagined that small desk he had and him sitting behind it surrounded with books and scrolls, his fingers stained with ink, scratching his head with the end of his quill. She imagined he would look up when she walked in, smile at her and beckon her to his side.

The sight that greeted her, however, was other than the one she had hoped for.

It was not Rhaegar sitting behind his small desk. Instead, she saw banners. Banners bearing sigils she had known since she had been old enough to take her lessons with Maester Walys. They were bursts of colors splattered in wet, thick, viscous red liquid. She paid that no mind, the sudden burst of colors blinded her eyes and made her head ache.

 _Is this a tourney,_ she wondered. But as she walked, her bare feet squished into the wet grass. When Lyanna looked down all she saw was a field soaked in blood and when she turned her head, she saw a river that ran red with it. _Blood on the banners,_ she realized.

She heard screams and curses, though she saw no one. She heard the song of steel, though she saw no fighting and she heard the whistle of arrows being loosed though she did not see who loosed them. Her senses were assaulted by the stench of death and the cacophony of noise.

Rhaegar appeared out of nowhere. He was armored all in black. On his breastplate was the three-headed dragon of his House, wrought all in rubies that flashed like fire. He was horsed and fighting.

 _Battle._ _This is a battlefield and this is war,_ she realized with horror. And the man Rhaegar was engaged with and who wielded a warhammer and wore a great antlered helm could only be Robert Baratheon.

What manner of madness was this? Why were they fighting? Lyanna felt confused and scared as she watched Rhaegar exchange blows with the Lord Robert.

 _The ford of the Trident,_ she knew at once. She had ridden here countless times. She had been here with Brandon once and with Rhaegar so many times. He had always liked it around here. It was green and lush and far enough from the stench of King’s Landing. _There are peaceful corners here and there if one cared to find them,_ he always said.

They circled and clashed, again and again. He was winning the battle, Rhaegar was, Lyanna saw as she crept closer and closer. If his sword had gone just an inch lower, he would have had him.

He was winning the battle until he wasn’t. Lyanna saw the moment the hammer took him in the chest, but she thought it was her chest the weapon had crushed instead. She felt her heart explode. It exploded the way the rubies on Rhaegar’s armor did. _Like droplets of blood,_ she thought, feeling faint.  

It was a slow thing. And she could not move fast enough to reach him as he fell from his horse backward into the turbulent waters of the Trident. Where he lay, she sank down to her knees, the freezing water making her violently shiver. She felt her body seize and her limbs grow numb and heavy. It did not matter, though. All that mattered was him. She shuddered at the sight of the plate of his armor and the way it was caved in from the force of the blow that Robert Baratheon had served him. She saw his blood swirl downriver with the rubies that had broken clean from his armor.

 _How did it come to this,_ she wanted to ask, but all she heard were her anguished sobs.

She pulled his head onto her lap and removed his helm, throwing it aside. How many times had he laid his head there, on her lap, closed his eyes and fallen asleep? And how many times had she run her fingers through his hair as she did just now without even realizing it? Rhaegar had beautiful hair. It was thick and so soft to the touch it felt like silk between her fingers. “Come, my heart,” she whispered to him, “open your eyes.”

Lyanna saw Ned looking down at Rhaegar grimly.

What rank madness was this that her brother would find himself fighting on opposite side of his good-brother? Ned would _never_ do such a thing. Family was important to him. Were they all lone wolves now? Had their pack been so broken up and dislocated that it had resulted in them being on opposite sides of what looked like a war?

“Ned,” she tried to call out to him, but his name would not get past her lips. It was as though she had been rendered mute. “Please _help him,”_ the words caught in her throat. “He is my husband. Please, Ned. _Please.”_ Ned walked away and Lyanna held on to Rhaegar even tighter than she had been. She could hear his breath rattling in his chest and saw blood gathering at the corner of his mouth. She wiped it away with her thumb.

She suddenly remembered the Wall and Castle Black and the first time she had ever laid eyes on him. She had felt so intimidated by his presence. Rhaegar Targaryen had seemed larger than life even at three-and-ten. It made her feel uneasy to know he was there, watching her whenever they were in the same room, until she overheard him speak to his great-uncle, Maester Aemon in the rookery. She understood then that the princeling was much like her. He was a boy searching for his place in a world he did not feel he belonged in.

She had not meant to eavesdrop on the conversation, but she heard it nonetheless. She thought him something of a kindred spirit then. She even thought for one mad moment that she and Benjen could rescue him from his life and take him beyond the Wall with them.

Lyanna brushed Rhaegar’s hair back and looked down at his face. She saw the small scar below his lip that she had accidentally given him when they were sparring one evening. “Rhaegar,” she said his name.

He opened his eyes and murmured her name before he closed them again. His breath left him in a long heavy sigh. His body slumped further into her and his head lolled to the side. “Rhaegar, _no!_ Open your eye. Please, open your eyes,” she pleaded with him. Rhaegar had beautiful eyes. They had been so unlike his parents’ or his brother’s eyes. Lyanna always thought they marked him as being special. Those eyes would never open again, she thought dully. It was done. Pleading and begging would not bring him back to her.

Slowly, she removed his lobstered steel gauntlet and pressed his hand against her cheek. His hands had always been warm and gentle, yet their touch now was as cold as ice. The man lying here was not the one she had known. Her husband had been full of life and warmth and when he gazed upon her, all she ever saw was how much he loved her.

 _Could anything in the world hurt worse than this,_ she wondered. She thought her heart may be shattered for good and all.

 _“What did you do?”_ she screamed at Robert Baratheon who was standing with his back turned to them. _“What did you do? Why?”_

They disappeared then, Robert Baratheon and her brother and the Trident and the noise of battle and the screams of the dying faded away. It was just her and Rhaegar left and the shadows. They were all around them. She recognized them. They were there, always, in every nightmare she had ever had. They always rose and rose around her until she was swallowed by them.

Part of her now knew she was dreaming and that she had to wake.

Rhaegar would be waiting for her, on the other side, alive and smiling. Harrenhal, she recalled vaguely. Rhaegar was at Harrenhal with Ser Oswell who had saved her life, she now thought she remembered, and Ser Arthur and the others. She had been thrown from her saddle and had taken an arrow. She had been in a lot of pain. She touched to her side where the quarrel had sunk deep into her flesh.

Her babe sprung in her mind. _Gods be good, I didn’t know until it was too late._

The little life that grew inside her. Lost. How could she not know? What kind of unnatural woman was she that she would not even know Rhaegar’s seed had taken root inside her? If she had seen Lord Mooton’s maester as it had been suggested, it may be that . . . “It’s done, Lyanna,” he had replied with a head shake. “It does no good to speak of roads not taken. You will only break your own heart more than it already is if you go down this path,” Rhaegar had said to her. He had looked as broken up as she felt.

“How do you miss something you didn’t even know you had?” she had asked him. She felt an emptiness she could not explain away. She should have been able to brush this off. She had formed no bond with the babe. Miscarriages this early happened all the time, she tried to rationalize. Her own lady mother had miscarried after Benjen had been born. She couldn’t brush it off, though.

She wondered if it was a boy or a girl. She hadn’t voiced that to Rhaegar. By then, her head was beginning to feel heavy and it seemed cruel to bring this up to him.

“I don’t know,” he had said to her. “Just know that none of this is your doing. There is a lot of blame to go around, and none of it falls on you.”

“You are wrong," she said to him. Dressing in armor and riding in the lists as a mystery knight in front of a mad king was the worst decision she had made. She had been stubborn and had refused to listen. _You reap what you sow,_ the old saying went. This had been too steep a price to pay.

“You did what you felt was right and you made me proud. That hasn’t changed, nor will it ever change.”

He had told her as much while they stood in the godswood. She had not wanted to go to the feast. She had wanted for him to help her out of the dress he had laced her into. She had wanted to soak in the stream but with him this time. She had wanted him to lay her beneath the heart tree and slide inside her, spend himself inside her under the watchful eyes of the gods she prayed to. She wanted to go to sleep there with her head pillowed upon his chest and his arms holding her.

Instead they had gone into the stuffy hall and Robert Baratheon had made his proclamations about the Knight of the Laughing Tree. He had promised to tumble her and unmask her. He had called her craven. Rhaegar had taken her from the hall after that, lest she do or say something they would both regret.

Lyanna looked down at Rhaegar, at the man whose body she was cradling in her arms. This was not her Rhaegar, she knew as much. But she could not bear to leave him behind. The pain and the sorrow she felt in the deepest parts of her felt as real as if he had truly died.

“I am going to wake up,” she said, looking down at Rhaegar’s prone form, her eyes filling with tears anew when she touched her hand to his face. “This is a nightmare and I will wake up as I always do when things get to be too much. I know you are waiting for me to wake,” she told him.

Lyanna did not understand. She could not understand that she would be trapped in such a nightmare.

 _“Why?”_ she yelled, looking around, searching for someone to give her the answers she sought. “Why am I here? Why am I being forced to live through this?”

No one answered her, but when she glanced back down, her arms were empty. Rhaegar had dissolved into a mist. He was gone and she was left alone with her grief.

Lyanna wiped her tears with the back of her hand and looked around. She recognized the hearth in the room and the large paneled windows. There used to be a bed against the smooth wall on the opposite side of the door. These were her chambers at Winterfell, yet they had changed. There was a crib now in it and when she stood and walked up to it, she startled. “I _know_ you,” she told the small boy as she studied his little face. “I know you.”

The boy could not have been more than two years old. But for the light curls that were going to dark, he was the spitting image of his father. He was standing in his crib, sucking on his thumb and when he looked up Lyanna felt all these emotions rise inside her and her heart gave a loud _thud_ inside her chest before it settled back. “Oh, look at you, my little heart. You look _so much_ like him.” She felt a rush of joy and pride and love course through her. But before she was able to pick him up, the door to the bedchamber opened and Ned walked in. The boy pulled his thumb out of his mouth and smiled widely. _You even smile like him,_ she thought.

 _This is just a dream,_ she reminded herself. 

Ned walked past her and when the boy threw his arms up in the air, his uncle picked him up and they left the room. Lyanna followed. She waited outside the glass gardens for Ned to come back out and when he did, he was holding a small bouquet of winter roses. Then he continued on to the crypts.

She went down the winding steps and walked behind Ned between the granite pillars and the tombs of the Starks of old. He stopped. “Your lady mother,” Ned spoke in a hushed tone as though he feared someone might hear him, and when Lyanna looked at the statue, she saw her likeness stare back at her.

 _No,_ she thought, her mind rebelling against the idea of her own death.

“Would that I knew half of what I know now,” Ned whispered, “they might be both alive, and you would be with them, being raised and loved by them as it should be.” He looked at the boy. “Your lady mother and your lord father both loved you.” He paused. “If Westeros knew Rhaegar left a trueborn son behind . . . I’d sooner not think on it.” He sighed heavily as though he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. “She wanted me to bring her back to Winterfell so that she may be close to you and I will bring you here as often as I can so that you may spend time with her. I know you will someday ask me who your mother is and I will not be able to give you an answer. I hope you will find it in you to forgive me. If I told you, then you will know who sired you and that is a dangerous truth.” He brought the boy closer to the statue and Lyanna watched him kiss the cold stone cheek sloppily before he was pulled away.

Lyanna would sooner have had a nightmare about the Others and the wights and the Wall collapsing in a heap of ice and rocks than this. Her lord father had died, she realized when she saw his statue. And Brandon too. And so did she. And so did Rhaegar. Dead. Every one of them. House Targaryen was no longer in power, she knew, or else this little boy would have been with his grandmother. Rhaella would have loved Rhaegar’s son with all of her heart, Lyanna was certain of that much.

“These were her favorite flowers. She loved the scent of winter roses. Your lord father gave her a crown made of them once,” Ned’s voice had taken on a bitter tone as he put the flowers he had brought at the feet of her likeness. “Remember, Jon, no promise is as as solemn as one sworn to the dead.”

Ned looked down at the boy. “I pray you will look less like your true father and more like your lady mother as you grow. For your own safety. But I hope you will have his quiet nature,” he said before turning away and starting his trek out of the crypt. Lyanna lowered her head and stared at the winter roses that had been freshly cut, feeling tears gather in her eyes.

 _Please, let me wake._ She closed her eyes and tried to inhale a deep breath that got caught somewhere between her throat and her chest. _Please, let me wake._

It was the voices she heard that prompted her to re-open her eyes again. It was Rhaegar’s voice and her own that she heard. She saw him standing there, wearing his long black velvet surcoat that bore the sigil of his House on the collar. He sat down heavily. Beside him, was her, _but not her._ She was wearing a dress that Lyanna recognized. It was the one she had worn when her father gave her away in Winterfell’s godswood. Atop her head was the crown of winter roses Rhaegar had bestowed upon her at Harrenhal, and their eyes were focused on him, this dark-haired boy she knew, and whom Ned had called Jon.

They were below the Wall, Lyanna realized, at Castle Black.

“He looks more a Stark,” Rhaegar said as his eyes followed the slender boy as he trained with other boys that were a little older than him.

The girl who was her shrugged beside him. “Maybe,” she said. “His eyes are no longer the same color as yours, but if the sun catches the grey just right, those indigo flecks appear. He never looks more like you than when he smiles or laughs. You are just a scratch below the surface. Anyone who ever knew you will only need take one look at him to know.” She slipped her hand into his. “It’s for the best. Ned would not have been able to protect him if he had remained this smaller version of you. Yet for all that he has a lot of you in him. He even sounds like you.”

Rhaegar made a face at that. “Perhaps. The victor tells the story he wishes to tell and our son only knows me as the man who kidnapped you and raped you. He may reject all these parts of himself that are like me for these lies that have been told.” He ran a quick hand in his hair. “I may have sired him, but I am nothing to him. I am not the father he ran to when he scraped his knee or the father he came to when he had questions that needed answering. I never held him in my arms. I’m not the one he smiled up at. I am the villain in this sad tale, the man who set the realm on fire. Your brother was his father and he raised a son any man can be proud of. The men here,” he pointed at folks Lyanna recognized, “they picked up where Lord Eddard left off. They too have seen to his education.”

“As has your uncle.”

“As has my uncle. A small consolation that our son will know a good Targaryen, one who is nothing like Aerys. He suspects, Aemon, that there is more to him, but he no longer has his eyes to see for himself. My uncle has been here far too long. It’s good to know he has his own blood with him, even if he can’t be sure of it.”

Lyanna remembered her last voyage to Castle Black. She had come for books that Rhaegar had had need of. And while she was there, she told Maester Aemon that they had been married a while. The old man had looked at her with eyes that had already dimmed some and told her how happy he was to hear her news. “My great-grandnephew has chosen love, then,” he had said. “Just as my nephews before him. Keep him grounded, my lady.”

She looked at the boy. _Solemn like a Stark,_ she thought. He had a lot of the north in him. “The day when he finds out the truth of his birth is coming,” this version of her said, leaning into Rhaegar. “He’ll not hate you when he finally knows. I daresay he will understand and even miss that you have not been a part of his life.”

“He had no need of me,” Rhaegar replied. “There was ever only person our son missed and that was you, my darling. No one else. Your brother was the father he knew, but you left a void in his life that no one ever tried to fill. He had to grow up without you, not knowing that you never wanted to be parted from him. I would have died a thousand deaths if you could have remained by his side.”

“Did it hurt when you died?” she asked him.

“It all happened so fast. I don’t think I had the time to feel the pain, but I knew it was done. What hurt was knowing I would never see you again. What hurt was the knowledge of all that I was leaving behind,” he replied, looking in the distance. Beneath the long surcoat, Lyanna saw the plate of his armor, broken where Robert Baratheon’s warhammer had felled him. Lyanna remembered the rubies breaking free from the breastplate and looking like drops of blood scattering to the winds.

Lyanna became fully aware then of how that moment on the Trident changed everything. If she could only understand . . . _it's all a dream._  

“Did it hurt when you died?” he asked her.

“Dying didn’t hurt. It was a relief when it finally came. My body had betrayed me and it could no longer go on. It made it easy knowing you were waiting for me. What hurt was knowing I was leaving him behind. What hurt was the uncertainty of what would become of him,” the girl who was her replied and Rhaegar smiled sadly at that.

Hearing this cut the heart right out of her. Lyanna looked at the couple who looked at their son. There was sorrow there too great for words. Unspeakable grief, she thought. _What cruelty is this?_ What cruel nightmare was this that she could not even wake from it?

“Aye, he has missed me even though I have been watching over him his entire life. We both have. But don’t think for a moment he will not need you. He will have every need of you when the time comes for him to confront what is growing stronger beyond the Wall,” the one with the crown of roses replied. “And when the dawn comes at last, it’s you he will owe thanks to. This is his war, and he doesn’t know yet how much you have already done to ensure he succeeds. He will not be alone in this. There are others who will stand with him, but it is your hand that will guide him.”

Lyanna clenched her hands at her side. _“She squeezed my hand,”_ she thought she heard Rhaegar, _her_ Rhaegar, say from behind a thick curtain wall. She turned around and stared in the direction she thought the voice had come from. The world around her began to fade away. The colors melded together and the voices of the dead became fainter and fainter until she no longer heard them.

 _“Rhaegar!”_ she shouted his name.

 _“She squeezed my hand,”_ she heard Rhaegar’s voice once more. _“She moaned, I heard her.”_

 _“I heard it too,”_ another voice spoke.

Lyanna followed the voices. _Please keep talking,_ she pleaded.

_“She doesn’t feel as warm. I think her fever is breaking.”_

She felt him now. And his voice was clearer as he spoke. Crisp. Alive. She no longer felt the absence of him so keenly, nor did she feel as though she was lost. He was so close, she thought she could smell him. She was no longer frightened nor did she feel alone.

 _“Come, my heart,”_ she felt the warmth of his breath upon her ear and hastened her step. The shadows began to recede back and back and back and as they did, the darkness that had been all around made way to light. _“Open your eyes. It’s time to wake up. It’s time to come back.”_

She was confused when her eyes fluttered open. She did not recognize the room she was in, but she knew the hand that held hers. She knew every callus on the joints of his fingers that the strings of his harp had left behind and she knew every callus where his hand had closed around the hilt of his sword. She knew this hand and she knew its warmth and its softness and its hardness and its tenderness.

And she knew the weight upon her breast too. Rhaegar always liked resting his head in her lap or on her midriff or upon her breast where he could hear her steady heartbeat.

Her free hand reached up and touched his hair and then her fingers threaded into the soft locks.

He was here and he was safe and the horrible nightmare she had had was just that, a nightmare. Already it was becoming something of a blur.

The touch of her fingers roused him. He turned his head toward her and stared at her for half a heartbeat as though he seemed unsure what was happening. His eyes were red-rimmed, she saw, and she figured he had not slept in a while. He pushed himself off, slowly, his eyes never breaking away from her. Her hand slid down from his hair and down his cheek and his neck to his chest where his tunic was loosely laced. She slipped her hand there, between skin and fabric, before she pressed it to his chest where Robert Baratheon’s warhammer had felled him in her nightmare. His skin was warm to the touch and his heartbeat was as strong as it ever were beneath her palm.

“Maester,” Rhaegar’s voice rang and the grey man shuffled over.

Rhaegar grudgingly let go of the hand he had been holding and stood so that the maester could examine her. “I’m alright.” Her voice was a whisper and her throat hurt from being dry.

Rhaegar said nothing, but his eyes never left her and her eyes never left him either. She knew why he wouldn’t look away from her. It was the same reason she would not look away from him.

Her hand went to her neck to hold her necklace as she was wont to do but it was not there, she realized. “My rose?” she asked with a scratchy voice.

“It is lost,” Rhaegar replied. “But I will get you another one. More beautiful. I promise.” She saw the ribbon he had taken from her the day he told he loved her was no longer around around his wrist. He touched there with a finger, as he always did. Lyanna thought he didn't know he was doing it. “The blood wouldn’t wash out,” he explained.

She nodded her head slowly at that. It was odd how she had grown to see that ribbon as being a little part of her that Rhaegar carried around with him wherever he went.

“How do you feel, my lady?” the maester asked.

“Tired,” Lyanna said. “Very thirsty.”

He moved then, Rhaegar did. He went to the table, picked up the carafe and filled a cup with water for her. He made his way to her, helped her sit up, adjusted the pillow behind her back to make her more comfortable and handed her the cup. Lyanna drank deeply, feeling the cool liquid run from her tongue, down her throat and into her stomach. “Easy, Lya,” Rhaegar murmured before he took the empty cup from her. “How is she, Maester?”

The man smiled a fatherly smile. “I dare say Her Grace will make a full recovery. I’ll send to the kitchens for some broth. It will do you a world of good, my lady. After that, you should rest.” He looked to Rhaegar. “And you should eat and sleep, my prince. You have been sitting vigil for two nights and three days. I think some bread and cheese, a cup of wine and a good night sleep will set you to rights.”

Rhaegar shrugged at that. “I am grateful, Maester, for everything you have done and tried to do and for having to tolerate me. I know I have been extremely difficult to deal with.”

“It was nothing, Your Grace. It is my duty first and foremost.”

“No matter. I thank you. Would you be so kind as to let Ser Arthur and Ser Oswell know that my lady Lyanna has awakened? They will be relieved to find out.”

The old man nodded and once he had left the chambers and closed the door behind him, Rhaegar sat down on the bed beside her and touched her forehead with the back of his hand as though he wanted to make sure her fever was really gone. “You gave me quite the scare,” he said smoothing her hair back, tucking the loose strands behind her ears. She thought he looked spent.

"Are you growing a beard?"

"I have let myself go," he replied. "But if you like it, I might consider keeping it." His smile was so dazzling, she couldn’t help but smiled back at him.

Her muscles ached from being inactive for too long and the wound she had taken lanced. She remembered the boiling wine that had been poured onto her skin and the red hot blade that had been pressed to her wound to cauterize it. Rhaegar had had to hold her down to prevent her from making any brusque movements. She had mercifully fainted from pain and exhaustion and fever.

“I heard you,” she told him. “ _‘Come, my heart,’_ you said. _‘Open your eyes.’_ I followed your voice.”

He tilted his head and looked at her thoughtfully before he pulled her gently to him. “I hoped you could hear me speak to you. I just wasn’t sure, but I’d hoped . . . I wanted you to know I was here.”

“I knew.” She would spare him the rest. He needn’t know about the rest. “We’ve always had an extra sense about each other.” She wrapped her arms around him and felt him bury his nose in her hair. “Don’t let go, my heart.” She held on to him with all the strength she could muster.

“I will _never_ let go,” he replied. She felt him tighten his embrace and kiss the crown of her head. The remnants of her nightmare and the fogginess that came from it were chased away by him. He always chased her nightmares away. His mere presence reassured her that all would be well.

He was here with her. And she was here in the safety of his arms and nothing else mattered.

“My lady, my joy,” he whispered, pulling away from her looking into her eyes.

“My husband, my love,” she whispered back cradling his face between her hands.

All was at it should be.


	23. 21: Winter Child

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rickard Stark recalls the stay of Rhaegar and Lyanna at Winterfell.

He had neglected the gods, Rickard thought, as he sat below the weirwood with Ice in one hand and an oilcloth in the other. He stared at the still waters of the black pool for a moment before he looked back to his sword and began cleaning the drying blood from it.

He had felt sick to his stomach as he had said the words, “In the name of Aerys of House Targaryen, the Second of His Name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, by the word of Rickard of House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, I do sentence you to die.”

It was not the man’s death that had bothered him. The man had raped and killed and Rickard Stark had no tolerance for men such as that. Fell beasts in human skin had no place in the north or the Seven Kingdoms.

No. What bothered him were the words he said before carrying the sentence out. _In the name of Aerys of House Targaryen, the Second of His Name . . ._ Rickard thought back on the words of his pronouncement. It was carrying justice in the name of King Aerys that had soured him and made him feel ill. What did Aerys Targaryen know of justice, he wondered. 

 _Nothing,_ the answer came to him. Aerys Targaryen knew nothing of justice if he thought a girl of seventeen name days was a rebel for wearing armor and defending the weak, a traitor deserving of death for trying to redeem the honor of a defenseless boy.  _Protector of the Realm,_ he thought. _What a jape!_

 _"Why would anyone want to hurt Lya,”_ Benjen had asked him, confused.

Rickard would have gladly carried the sentence in Prince Rhaegar’s name, but that would have been treason and there were already enough problems to deal with as it were. And like a faithful dog, he had swallowed the bile that had risen up his throat and beheaded the man in the name of a king he no longer wished to serve.

But as he had raised Ice high and brought it down, he imagined it was King Aerys’s head he was lopping off instead. _This is for my Lyanna who has done you no wrong,_ he thought as the head rolled onto the frozen ground and blood sprayed the pristine snow. _It is for your queen who did you no harm and for the son you do not deserve._

But the man he executed had not been his lord and king. And he knew well enough that Aerys would never end at the executioner's block. Prince Rhaegar would never allow it. Rickard would settle for taking the heads of the men of the small council for their corruption of the realm instead.

The first time Rickard had met Aerys Targaryen was at King’s Landing, when his lord father had taken him to the city to swear fealty to King Jaehaerys shortly after the tragedy at Summerhall. _It was time,_ he’d told him. It would not be long now before Rickard became the Lord of Winterfell and the Warden of the North and it was important that the king and the crown prince knew him and his face.

They had stayed in the capital a fortnight, and Rickard had spent some time with the Prince Aerys who had recently become a father. The prince had been beaming with pride when he had taken him to the royal nursery and presented him his infant son who had been fast asleep in his bassinet.

Princess Rhaella had been there too, so young and so beautiful with her large soft lilac eyes. Prince Rhaegar took much after his mother in looks. He had certainly inherited her smile and all her graces.

The next time he had seen Aerys was on the Stepstones, a handful of months after his visit to the Red Keep. It had been during the War of the Ninepenny Kings. It was war and they had both taken the field. Rickard had been there when the prince had won his spurs.

And then there was the last time he had seen him, in King’s Landing once more, to renew fealty to the Iron Throne when Rickard had come into his lands and titles.

The king had been as amicable as Rickard had remembered, but the talk of building a new Wall north of the Wall that stood eight thousand years and had been raised with ice and stone and blood magic had left him perplexed by the man and his odd ambitions.

It was enough that the Gift was near vacant. What did they need more land for?

He had indulged Aerys, calling it a splendid idea and invited him to come north and see Winterfell and the Wall. The idea of traveling so far had thrilled the king, but like his predecessors, he had not cared enough what happened north of the Neck to bestir himself. There had been no real contact with his king afterward. Rickard did his duty as was expected of him. He ruled the north as every Stark for eight thousand years had and that was the end of that.

Aerys had always been charming. He was a charming boy and a charming man, quick to smile and quick to laugh. It was hard to reconcile this person he had known in passing and this creature he had now become.

The rumors that were brought up the kingsroad and to the gates of Winterfell  were one thing. Rumors were oft exaggerated. By the time Rickard received news of the south, it was difficult to find those kernels of truth in them. But Prince Rhaegar had confirmed most of the gossip, albeit reluctantly. Rickard had questioned the young man’s ambitions for the throne at first. He even wondered if the prince was lying. But Brandon himself had told him of the wildfire and the people that had been fed to the green flames.

And as the days had trickled by, Rickard realized that it was not in the prince’s nature to want to usurp someone, let alone his own father.

Prince Rhaegar did not want swords to start war. He was not interested in raising his sword against his blood, nor did he want to turn the realm into a battlefield.

What he genuinely wanted was the support of the lords at a Great Council and a regency for the realm. He had not cared that Aerys called himself king so long as the members of the small council were sacked and a regent took the realm in hand. It had made Rickard feel more comfortable with his decision to have the prince come to Riverrun and speak to the lords Arryn and Tully and others who would be attending his son's wedding.

He wondered what the prince would do now. He wondered where he and Lyanna were and if they were safe. Thinking of what his daughter had gone through made his heart clench painfully in his chest. The initial rage he had felt toward her and her lord husband upon finding what she had done at Harrenhal had made way to something akin to despair after Benjen told him the tale of the mystery knight. It seemed the price she had paid for wanting to do the right thing had been a very steep one.  

Rickard lifted his head and looked down the cobbled path.

And to think that scarce three moon’s turns had passed since he had walked Lyanna down this very path to her awaiting prince.

He had been dressed in his House colors, the prince was. Black deerskin breeches and a black doublet with a stiff collar, the three-headed dragon of Aegon the Conqueror picked out in rubies upon the breast. Underneath the doublet was a crimson silk tunic. He wore a mantle of the same color. Folded neatly in his arms was the cloak of black velvet that he would put about his bride’s shoulders as they said their vows.

When Rickard had looked down at Lyanna’s face, all he saw was how happy she was. In the light of the fading day, the blue in her eyes looked as rich as the blue of sapphires and the grey looked as dark as Valyrian steel. She had only eyes for the man waiting for her below the red leaves of the heart tree.

Rickard had waited for her by her bedchamber as she made herself ready for the small ceremony. And when she swung the heavy oaken door open and stepped out, Rickard had been floored by how beautiful she looked. The head seamstress had kept things simple, sticking to the colors of the House she had served for years.

The dress had been white silk, slashed with cloth-of-silver and Myrish lace of the same color. The skirts were decorated in rose patterns and picked out in seed pearls and lapis lazuli. Just like her beloved winter roses. A long cloak of white velvet heavy with pearls had been placed upon her shoulders, a fierce direwolf had been embroidered upon it in silver thread and fastened about her neck with a slender silver chain.

Rickard had only ever seen Lyanna in cotton or wool dresses, breeches and tunics and old faded leather jerkins that she stole from her brothers’ chambers. He thought of the silks and samites and plush velvets she must have worn during her time in King’s Landing and Dragonstone and all the heads she must have turned.

Seven-and-ten years had gone by in the blink of an eye. She had been so small and so fragile when she was born, he did not think she would live to see her first name day, let alone seventeen of them.

One morning he had watched a girl of eleven name days ride away from the castle and the next day she was seven-and-ten and married. Happily married to a man who worshiped the very ground she walked on. And the way she softened and became so vulnerable and exposed around her prince left no doubt as to how much she loved him.

It was all very odd the things he could remember as he walked her down the path. He remembered the girl who ran wild in this very godswood, climbing this tree and that one. He remembered the girl who used a stick for a sword, and the girl who stood on her saddle as her horse trotted around the yard. He remembered the day she had insisted she must learn to juggle in case she had need to go to Braavos and become a mummer. He was still trying to puzzle out how this thought had ever crossed her mind. But she had learned to juggle, much to the delight of the children who lived within the walls of Winterfell.

The ceremony itself had been short as they were when one married before a heart tree. There were vows and promises made, but no septon to officiate or drag the affair on.

As the snows fell in sheets, and melted in the couple's hair, Rickard could not help but think that this union was blessed by the old gods of the north. They had been present that evening, the gods were. Rickard had sensed them and their old magic. It was that spark of something in the air that was always difficult to explain, but the leaves had rustled loudly as the vows were spoken and the godswood crackled with life.

“It was like that on the Isle of Faces,” Lyanna had said. “It hadn’t snowed, but the breeze picked up suddenly and the leaves began to rustle all around us. Do you remember that?” she asked. “They whispered our names.” Prince Rhaegar had only nodded staring at the solemn face of the weirwood.

Afterward, they had gone down to the crypts together. Rickard, his daughter who wore a Targaryen cloak about her slim frame and this Valyrian prince. Down the narrow winding stone steps they went. Rickard had gone first with the lantern. Prince Rhaegar had insisted on taking flowers for Lyarra’s tomb.

As Rickard swept the lantern around, the shadows moved and lurched all about them. Ahead was a long procession of granite pillars, two by two, into a tunnel of blackness. Between the pillars the dead sat their stone thrones with their direwolves curled at their feet and steel swords on their knees. They walked between the pillars, their footsteps ringing off the stone and echoing all around them. The Lords of Winterfell watched them pass, their stone eyes made alive by the flickering light of the lantern. The shifting shadows made the stone figures seem to stir and come to life as they went by.

Rickard knew these men, every last one of them. They had been old friends. _This is a Stark place,_ he thought as he looked over his shoulder at Prince Rhaegar. _When the snows fall and the cold winds blow, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives,_ he remembered his lord father always saying. It was a mantra he and his wife often reminded their children of.

Prince Rhaegar was part of their pack now. He was one of them. And they could not hope to defeat the Others without him.

“This is Jon Stark,” Lyanna told her lord. “He pushed back raiders and built the Wolf’s Den. Next to him is his son Rickard Stark who conquered the Neck and took the daughter of the last Marsh King to bride.”

“Is it true the crannogmen and the children of the forest intermarried?”

“That is the tale,” Lyanna had replied.

“It might explain the dreams you have. It’s in your blood.”

“Might be,” she smile at him. “This is Theon Stark, the Hungry Wolf and that one is Brandon the Shipwright. His tomb is sealed, but empty. He sailed the Sunset Sea and never came back. His son,” she pointed at the statue across, “Brandon the Burner. He put our fleet to the torch. We haven’t had any strength at sea since.”

“It’s not too late to rectify that.”

“As to that, my lord father refuses to hear my opinion on the matter.” She spoke as though Rickard had not been there walking beside her. “This is Cregan Stark and that one is the last King in the North, Torrhen Stark.”

“Near three hundred years since and here we are.” Prince Rhaegar had taken her hand and kissed her fingers.

“Here we are,” Lyanna repeated looking up at him. “My lady mother is buried there,” she pointed down the black vault.

“You go,” Rickard said handing them the lantern. He had no need for it.

“Aren’t you coming?”

“I paid my respects earlier today.”

Lyanna gave him an odd look then nodded and took the prince by the hand. She continued talking, telling him about the Starks of old. Everything became silent at once and Rickard knew they had reached the tomb. Beyond it there were other tombs, empty and unsealed. Waiting for him. Waiting for his children. But he never liked to think on those. It would be a long time still before his children came to rest here.

He had gone behind Torrhen Stark’s statue once his eyes adjusted to the dark and rummaged behind it for a few seconds before he found what he was looking for. He picked up the chest and moved back to where he had been standing. The chest felt heavy. _Perhaps I’ve just grown too old to carry this thing,_ he told himself.

He waited there for a few minutes before he saw the light from the lantern coming closer and closer to him. “Some of the swords have gone to rust,” Prince Rhaegar remarked.

“They need to be replaced and will be in due course,” Rickard agreed. “I mean to replace all the swords, including the ones in the lower levels.” Lyanna’s eyes had widened at that. “There are no ghosts in the sub-levels, daughter,” he said. “No one more than there are up here.”

He turned to Prince Rhaegar. “My lord,” he said, “about the dowry.”

“We discussed this, Lord Stark. I have no need for one. I would sooner you use the funds for more useful things.”

“I think you will change your mind once you know what I am giving you.” He had opened the chest then and revealed its contents. He heard Prince Rhaegar’s breath hitch and his eyes grew large from shock. He did not miss the look that passed between husband and wife. He wondered what it was about.

“This has been in the crypts since the Dance of the Dragons, Your Grace. Cregan Stark found them after Jacaerys Velaryon left Winterfell on his dragon. Vermax did not lay them inside the crypts per se.” He paused. “Lord Cregan and Prince Jacaerys had come to the agreement that he would send his Targaryen daughter to Winterfell to become his son's bride.” But Jacaerys Targaryen had died during the Battle of the Gullet, he and his dragon both, and the promise had died with him. Rickon Stark, Cregan's heir, had married and fathered two daughters on his Manderly wife before he too died, fighting beside Daeron the First, down in Dorne.

History was filled with little ironies.

“Aye,” Prince Rhaegar said recovering his voice. “The Pact of Ice and Fire.”

Rickard nodded. “It did not work as it had been agreed upon, but he had hoped that the Targaryens would keep to their word eventually. The eggs were always meant as payment, a dowry or a bride price. The knowledge of the eggs has been passed down from one generation to the other. The eggs are old and time has turned them to stone.”

“Stone or not, they are beautiful, my lord. May I?” the prince gestured to the eggs.

“They are yours.”

The prince had bent down and picked up one of the eggs and put it in Lyanna’s hands. The bigger of the three, black as night, alive with scarlet ripples and swirls. The red looked like leaping flames in the light of the lantern. “Targaryen colors,” he said as he picked up a deep green one burnished with copper and held up to inspect. “It . . . it feels warm to the touch.” He had frowned at that and touched the cream colored one, hos frown deepening. “Cold preserves,” he murmured.

“It’s the lantern,” Lyanna pointed down. “The heat from it must have warmed them some. They feel cold to me.” But she frowned as well and Rickard noticed the slight tremble of her hands. “Are you alright?” she asked the prince.

Prince Rhaegar shook his head. “I am mostly shocked by this. This was the last thing I ever expected.” He then laughed. “Lord Tywin said that my bride should be rich, that the north had naught to offer but snows and cold winds. If he only knew what priceless thing you Starks have been hiding here. If my father had known of this, he would have carried you on his back all the way to the Red Keep and to my bed, Lya.” He sobered then. “Dragons,” he said. “The grief and glory of my House. I dream of them still. I see their shadow on the snow, hear the crack of their leathern wings, feel their hot breath. I can see them, coiling in the night, their dark wings outlined against a sea of flame. I don’t know if they are good dreams or ill ones.”

“Rhaegar, what will you do with them? Will you take them back to King’s Landing?” Lyanna had asked him.

The prince took the black egg she held in her hands and laid it back down in the chest. “I can’t take them to the Red Keep as long as my father is there. If he knows they exist, he will stake claim to them and the last thing I want is for him to try and hatch them. The last attempt ended in tragedy. I will take them to Dragonstone,” he said, “hide them in Dragonmont. They will be safe there. These belong to our children and I mean for them to have them.”

“Do you think they’ll hatch?” she had asked him. She looked afraid, Rickard realized. He wondered if this was a mistake, gifting these eggs.

“The dragons will return,” Prince Rhaegar had replied. “It is written and Maester Aemon’s brother dreamt it. You saw their shadows in the snow, Lya, same as I did.” He had taken Lyanna’s hand and kissed it. “Don’t be afraid.”

“How can I not be?” she replied.

“They will hatch or they will remain as they are. There will be no repeat of Summerhall, I can promise you that.”

The prince had carried the chest up the spirling steps and into the dark of the night. “I will take ship at White Harbor to Dragonstone. _Heart’s Delight_ should be making port there in a few days,” he said.

“And after that?”

“The ship will be bound for Duskendale,” he replied. “I’ll ride to King’s Landing from there.”

Lyanna had only nodded.

It had been quiet after the prince left and quieter still after Lyanna had gone. And Rickard had missed her the moment she had ridden away from Winterfell and down the kingsroad toward White Harbor. It was odd how he had gotten to know her better in a fortnight than he had all her life. He had come to realize that his daughter was a rare girl.

“I loved her best of all, my little winter child,” he whispered to himself as he cleaned the last of the blood from the blade. He remembered one of Old Nan’s tales, that of a little girl who had been born in one of the worst winter storms to ever hit the land. The chill had entered her skin and she was always cold to the touch. She could not love because of that. He was a boy still, playing with wooden swords when she told him that story.

Rickard had recalled that tale as he stood outside the chambers where Maester Walys was examining his wife and the daughter she had given birth too. It was strange the things a man remembered in his moments of distress.

Lyanna’s skin had been warm to the touch and her cheeks pink with life and her heart was as big as the north and loving and kind.

The raven that had come bearing news of what had happened to her in the riverlands had shaken him up to his very core and he wondered what manner of tales Rhaegar Targaryen remembered or what memories of Lyanna had come back to him.

As he sat in his solar with Prince Rhaegar’s message crushed in his hand, all he could remember was Lyanna on her first name day and the determined look on her face, how she had taken hold the legs of a chair and hoisted herself up, red-faced and determined. He remembered her at three and at four and at five and at six.

And he remembered her so well at seven with her arms crossed over her chest and her chin raised with defiance, refusing to see their Glover guests. “You can’t make me marry,” she had said. “I would rather become a silent sister.” He imagine she had learned of the silent sisters in her lessons but he had no idea when his daughter learned to speak to him in such a manner.

Her mother had managed to coax her into changing out of her too big breeches and into a dress and she had been courteous enough to dance with the Glover boys, though she had done her her damnedest to step on their toes. Rickard had never wanted to throttle anyone half as much as he wanted to throttle her that day.

Lyanna had been stubborn from the first. She had been too stubborn to die after the traumatic way she had come into the world and too stubborn to give up anything she ever set her mind to. She had fought to live, fought to stand, fought for every inch she had ever gotten.

Reading Prince Rhaegar’s note had enraged him. He cursed Lyanna for her willfulness and the prince for indulging her and allowing her to do as she pleased. Lyanna had never been one to recognize what was acceptable behavior and what was not. She had always been difficult to handle and everything from the moment she learned she could get away with most anything with a smile or a pout or a few well placed tears had been an uphill battle.

But she had changed. Rickard had seen how different his daughter had become. “She has changed,” he told the maester who sat across from him, staring into space.

“She has,” the maester had acknowledged. “She has gotten older and Prince Rhaegar has been good for her. But I have never known anyone to walk into a situation with the best of intentions and make such a mess of things.”

Prince Rhaegar’s message had given them the broad strokes of what had happened, leaving a terrified Benjen to fill in the gaps of what had happened at Harrenhal. He had not wanted to at first. He and Lyanna had always been close and thick as thieves. “Loyalty is an admirable thing, but this is no time for it. Your sister has been hurt. She has miscarried the prince’s heir. The time to protect her secrets is passed.”

“Why would the king want to hurt her?” Benjen had asked not understanding after he read the note. “She wasn’t being a traitor, she was just trying to defend Howland Reed’s honor.”

“No, she wasn't being a traitor,” Rickard had replied, “but I think the king’s mind is too far gone for him to understand that. And those who counsel him would rather flatter him than give him proper advice.”

Rickard rested the sword against the heart tree. He always came to the godswood after an execution to find solace and comfort in his gods. The gods had brought him none of that this time. Above his head, the leaves of the weirwood rustled. He looked up at them for a brief moment before he looked away. He shifted on his rock and sighed heavily.

Maester Walys had been right. For all the changes he had seen in her, Lyanna could still walk into a situation with the very best of intentions and much everything up. _This, though?_ Dressing in armor and entering the lists had been sheer madness.

“But she’s really good, Father,” Benjen had insisted to him. “She used to practice at rings and ride at the quintain when she was in King’s Landing. Prince Rhaegar showed her how to couch her lance, she told me. She knew what she was doing.”

It had dismayed him to find that out. He had seen Lyanna in the yard, with a blunted sword in hand, sparring with her lord husband a few minutes here and there. They had been a spur of the moment things. The wild side that Rickard had tried to curb was a side that Prince Rhaegar had nurtured.

“Why, my lord?” he had asked him one morning as they crossed the yard together. “She will be queen, the realm expects a lady, not a half-wild girl.”

Prince Rhaegar had shrugged. “She is a lady,” the man had insisted. “And why not?” he had returned the question.

“Because she was born a girl, Your Grace.”

He had smiled then, the prince had. “What a fortunate thing for me that she was! I don’t think anyone should be limited by their circumstances. Your daughter has never cared for that line in the sand. Lyanna is a very capable person. If she wants to continue to learn to fight or keep reading on herb lore and try her hand at the healing arts or at anything really, why not?”

“Where do you draw the line?”

“Where the line is drawn is up to her. Whatever she wants to do or try, I will stand at her back. It’s her character that will determine what kind of queen she will be, not the hobbies she chooses. The people of King’s Landing know her. The ones who matter, down in Flea Bottom, and in the kitchens and the stables of the Red Keep. She knows them and they know her. Lyanna is very much loved. What she does with her free time matters not to me. If she wants to learn, who am I to say no to her or stop her?”

 _You are her prince, her lord husband,_ Rickard had wanted to retort. “And if your daughter chooses to pick up a sword and don an armor?”

“If that’s the case, then I will make sure she has the best master-at-arms. If she wants to learn, then I want her to be the best that she can be.” He had stopped walking and his eyes found Lyanna atop her horse and smiled.

Rickard cleared his throat. “I used to think that as well before any of my children were born. Her lady mother used to play with wooden swords when she was very young. Her lord father didn’t mind. He was an adventurer, he had seen warrior women in sellsword companies when he was in Essos. I thought I could be like that. Then Lyanna was born and all I could think was what it would mean for her to carry a sword.”

The prince looked away from Lyanna and back at him. “I know what it means, my lord. If Lyanna carried a sword, she might have been scorned for it or challenged at every turn. It could have meant her death. I understand that.”

“Then I ask you again, my lord, why?”

“There are two ways of learning things. There’s the wrong way and the proper way. I much rather have her do it properly, with men who know what they are doing and tailor their lessons to her needs rather than for her to pick up bits and pieces of lessons here and there and cobble them together.”

Rickard disagreed with that his notion entirely. But Lyanna was forever pushing in where she didn’t belong. She had even put it in her head that she ought to go to the Citadel in Oldtown and forge her chain when she was barely nine after Maester Walys had explained to her what the links meant, and cried bitter tears when she was told girls were not allowed to attend. Rickard supposed allowing her her whims ensured that she didn’t do something foolish.

 _Except that she had done something very foolish,_ he thought, leaning back against the weirwood and staring off in the distance.

Rickard had made no replies to the prince whose eyes were still trained on Lyanna. “When I met her at Summerhall, she was sitting on a branch in the old elm tree. I had never met a girl who could climb a tree, let alone one who had any love for swords and longbows or could catch a rabbit to feed herself. She was so different, unafraid. There was something so extraordinary about her. I could scarce believe that she had ridden on her own through the rainwood, using the stars to guide her. The maester taught her how to read the stars and she used what she learned.” He had looked him then. “How could I ever forget her or not think of her after that?”

He had left him then, and walked up to her. He had given her his hand and helped down from her horse and she gave him the worst curtsy Rickard had seen in his life. It was embarrassing to watch. Truly. But the prince had rolled his eyes at her and smiled fondly and followed her to the stables.

“Gods give me the strength to do right by them,” he prayed. Dread coiled within him like a snake ready to strike. He was unsure how to manage this situation with the king. He had read the letter several times before putting it in the hearth and watching turn to ash. He felt much and more had been left unsaid.

Rickard had taken care to sending a raven to Riverrun for Brandon, telling him not to expect his sister after all. He had written the note and seen the raven off himself. The problem was he had no idea if Brandon would read it. His eldest son could be as feckless as they came. But the worst was how restless he was. Brandon had never been one to remain in the same place. He often mounted his horse and left, without so much as speaking a word of it. He never knew where he was going. “I shall know when I arrive,” he always said.

He didn’t even know if his son was at Riverrun. He could be in the Vale for all he knew or the Rills, or halfway to Dorne or the Arbor. 

He sighed heavily. There were days he wished Ned had been his firstborn. Ned was hard-working, disciplined and had a heightened sense of duty that Brandon sorely lacked. Ned replied to every piece of news Rickard sent him, if only to say that he had received it.

The letter he had sent putting an end to the betrothal between Lyanna and Robert Baratheon had gone unanswered, however. It was odd. Perhaps Ned had decided to wait to see him at Riverrun to speak to him. He could not imagine his son was pleased with this, or Robert Baratheon for that matter.

Brandon and Ned would have to find out everything from his own mouth when he saw them next. They would know everything. They would know that their sister had been married to the prince for a while, that King Aerys had threatened her life.

Like Benjen, Brandon would urge his father to call the banners. He would want to find his sister and bring her home to Winterfell where she would be safest. But Ned would see it differently. Ned was much like Rickard. Ned would not want to work at cross-purpose with the prince. He would want to work alongside him to resolve this.

Brandon would have to come to Winterfell after his wedding to the Tully girl. It was time for both his sons to come home. He would not allow either of them to linger south of the Neck any longer. If Rickard had need to leave home, Brandon would have to take over the day to day running of Winterfell and the north and Ned would act as his right hand and Maester Walys would be there for guidance.

It was time for those two to start taking care of their responsibilities as his sons. He would need to find a bride for Ned and lands for his seat.

There was so much to do, yet he felt paralyzed. News of Lyanna and Prince Rhaegar had not only taken the wind from his sails, but also gone to stale. There had been no raven since the one that bore the ill news. He did not know if his daughter was alive or dead or if she was in Westeros still.

He was standing to head back to the castle when he saw Maester Walys and Benjen making their way to him with a man he did not know. His breath hitched and he felt his heart squeeze so hard, he thought he might drop dead from it. But he recovered quickly enough.

He looked at the newcomer warily. “My lord,” Maester Walys said, “This is Ser Marq Grafton of Gulltown.”

The knight bowed his head and Rickard looked at him. There was no sigil on his clothing and it was as well. He recognized the name, however. “You are far from home, ser,” Rickard said. The knight was blue-eyed with light brown hair and had a pleasant manner about him.

“I come bearing news, my lord, from the prince,” he lowered his voice. “I handle his affairs in Gulltown and see to his ships. He is a friend as is your lady daughter. He summoned me to the riverlands before they departed Westeros. He wanted you to know that the lady Lyanna is recovered.” He pulled a folded parchment from his leather jerkin and handed it to him. Rickard saw the wax, a swirl of light blue and light grey with a rose pressed onto it.

He broke the seal. Lyanna had written only one word, her location. “Is there anything else?” Rickard asked.

“Aye,” Marq Grafton replied. “There is. You will have all that happened from me. I have letters from His Grace to give you. Myles Mooton will have fresher news still when you see him at Riverrun for Lord Brandon’s wedding. Rhaegar has given orders and spread out his people, myself included. He means to take the throne as soon as he is ready.”

“How long?”

“I don’t know, my lord. All I can tell you is that Rhaegar will be working on gathering support. It could be half a year or it could be longer. But he wanted you to know his intentions.”

Rickard nodded. _Fire and blood, it will be then. And winter is coming._


	24. 22: Hard Truths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhaella and Ser Gerold have a discussion.

She had seen her son from her windows, mounted on his horse with his companions alongside him, the white winds gusting all around them, galloping away from the castle. The way he was dressed, Rhaella thought he was only going to the kingswood to clear his head.

It had been Ser Jaime Lannister who had brought her the news of what had happened in the Great Hall between Aerys and Rhaegar. The young Kingsguard had gone as far as to tell her that he wanted to go with Rhaegar to find Lyanna but that the prince would not allow him. Ser Gerold Hightower, the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard had confirmed everything to her.

Never in her wildest dreams did she think her son had abdicated his birthright or that she may never see him again.

“The girl is bold as brass, I’ll give her that. She dressed in mismatched armor and entered the lists to avenge some boy’s honor,” Ser Gerold had explained.

 _Aye, bold as brass,_ Rhaella thought bitterly. _Impulsive, more like and at what cost._ “She should have let Rhaegar and his Kingsguard handle the situation on her behalf.”

“That may be, child, but this is not the northern way of doing things,” Ser Gerold replied. “I am assuming Varys has known this a while and decided to sit on the information until now.”

 _Why had the eunuch waited so long to give up what he knew,_ Rhaella wanted to ask. The information had not mattered to the eunuch in the least, she concluded. He may not even have looked to divulge Lyanna’s secret. She wondered if he had found out of Rhaegar's journey to Winterfell.

A weight had been lifted off Rhaegar's shoulders, Rhaella had seen, when he returned from the north. He had whispered in her ear of renewing vows in the castle’s godswood, of warm walls and hot springs and of a library filled with ancient books and ones that had escaped Baelor the Blessed’s purge. He spoke of Valyrian scrolls and journals the Starks of old kept, including accounts of the Old King’s stay at the northern castle when he journeyed there on the back of his dragon Vermithor, the Bronze Fury.

He had whispered of the dowry Lord Stark had paid him, though all he would say on that was that he had taken the gift to Dragonstone and intended on keeping it there. Rhaella could read between those lines well enough. Her son did not want his father to know of it.

“Aerys knows of the marriage,” Ser Gerold had said to her. “I knew Rhaegar loved Lady Lyanna deeply but I had no idea he had made her his wife. It was a little more than a shock finding out like that.”

 _Too bad the shock did not kill Aerys,_ she had almost replied.

This knowledge had done nothing to stay his hand, however. Aerys saw Lyanna Stark as a traitor. 

Aerys had refused to call off the men he had hired. “Rhaegar begged him. I offered to go myself or send Arthur or Oswell to bring her back. He would not listen. It all fell on deaf ears,” Ser Gerold had explained as they stood in these very chambers. “I feared he would command me to arrest him. Rhaegar. There was a moment, I even feared for his life. Aerys has become so unpredictable. What if he’d shoved him down the steps of the Iron Throne? The longer the confrontation went on, the more worried I grew. I feared it would come to swords. And what then?” he asked her. “I was reminded of the maester’s lessons when I was a small boy, on the Dance of the Dragons. I was reminded of Kingsguard killing Kingsguard and kin slaying kin. I did not know if I would be able to control the situation.”

“Rhaegar would not have let it come to that.”

Ser Gerold shrugged. “He would not. But what of Aerys?” He stared at her for a half a heartbeat. “Rhaegar had the bearings of a king,” he said. “I saw a king standing there. And I think Aerys saw it too. It was as though someone had reached into my chest and crushed my heart when he abdicated his birthright.”

“Rhaegar would never do such a thing,” Rhaella had replied to that. Hearing those words from Ser Gerold’s own mouth had broken her. She felt as though all was lost in that moment.

“Wouldn’t he, child?” Ser Gerold had asked her. “Think on it and think on it well. It felt as though he had reached his limit, that he had had enough. He called it a mummer's farce.”

No, Rhaegar had not wanted the throne. For him it was duty and a means to an end and nothing else. He certainly wanted to better the realm and make people’s lives better, but he was in no rush to be called _‘King.’_

Her son had been born for this, though. He had been born to this. Whenever he wore his circlet of Valyrian steel about his brow, all Rhaella ever saw was the jeweled crown he would one day don as he climbed the steps leading up to _his_ throne. She had seen greatness in him from the moment he could string words together to form full sentences, and was convinced he would be a great king. He had proven as much while Aerys had been held captive at Duskendale.

 _If only Aerys had died there,_ she thought. _If only he had been killed there. Rhaegar wouldn’t have needed to hide his wife or this other life he had. Rhaegar would be our king and he would be working to bettering the realm. He wouldn’t be across the narrow sea._

 _If only Aerys had died at Summerhall. If only grandfather and Uncle’s lives had been spared, Rhaegar would have been able to grow up surrounded by men who would have wanted what was best for him._ How better served would her son have been then?

 _If only Aerys had died on the Stepstones during the War of the Ninepenny Kings,_ she thought. _If only. If only. If only . . . If only._

“Do you think Lord Stark knows where they are?” she asked.

“Maybe,” Ser Gerold said. “But Winterfell is a world away from King’s Landing and the Neck stands between the riverlands and the north. The Starks are in no danger from Aerys. You, sweet child, are at his mercy. Better you don’t know more than what Rhaegar was willing to share.”

Rhaella had scarce slept since Ser Arthur’s letter had arrived. She had read it and read it and read it over and over and over before she put it in the hearth and watched it burn to ash. It had been impossible for her to close her eyes after that. Whenever she closed them too long, she saw blood in the white snows and blood swirl downriver.

The click of the door took her attention away from the large bay windows that overlooked Blackwater Bay. Rhaella turned around and watched Ser Gerold stride in, his white cloak snapping behind him. His step faltered when he saw her. It was half a heartbeat, but Rhaella saw it nonetheless. She had known Ser Gerold since she had been a small girl, dressed in silks and samites that had been far heavier than she was. “Rhaella,” he said her name frowning. “Were we supposed to meet today?”

She shook her head slowly and pointed to the table in the middle of the Lord Commander chambers. “Blood oranges from Dorne,” she said, “I know how fond of these you are.” She pulled a folded parchment from her sleeve, with hardened orange wax. Ser Gerold’s frown deepened. He stretched his hand out and took the paper. He turned it around, examining it before tucking it in his boot with a sigh. “I am too old for intrigue,” he finally said, gesturing her to one of the seats as he removed his white cloak and examined it for stains. He threw it over the back of his seat and sat down.

Rhaella sat and smoothed her skirts down before folding her hands together and waiting. The words that had come from his lips had been disappointing, but she had expected them. “I have no news, child. Not since the letter Arthur sent me.”

Rhaella had felt ill after reading that letter and kept to her chambers after that. Ser Arthur had been short and to the point with his words.

They had found the Lady Lyanna, he had written, but she had been severely hurt and she had miscarried the child she had been carrying, Rhaegar’s own heir. They were on their way out of Westeros.

 _It was only a matter of time before a child came into the picture,_ Rhaella had reflected after. It was only a matter of time before they threw caution to the wind and decided it was time for them to create a small life together.

It had saddened her that it would end like this, but perhaps it was for the best that it had happened so early into the pregnancy. It was for the best, before Lyanna felt her babe move within her for the first time, before she grew attached and fell in love with the life that grew inside her.

Rhaella knew that pain all too well. It had taken her years to conceive again after Rhaegar had been born. For all the ease she had had becoming pregnant the first time and the ease she had had with her pregnancy, everything after that had been a trial. It was one miscarriage after the other, a stillborn daughter, and three boys who had not lived long enough to see their first name days.

She often wondered if the foul sorcery at Summerhall had somehow hurt her and every child she had borne thereafter. She had even given birth to a child who was said to have looked monstrous, with wings like a bat and a tail, neither boy nor girl, half beast and half human. She had never laid eyes on her little one nor given them a name. The birthing bed had left her too weak to do much of anything, but Aerys had seen the child and commanded that it be cremated at once. That had broken her heart.

No, Rhaella understood all too well the pain of loss. But unlike her who had been abandoned to her grief more often than not, her good-daughter had Rhaegar to see her through this. A small consolation in a sea of sadness.

“I guess it was only a matter of time before Aerys raised his hand to his own blood. Rhaegar has forgiven his father a lot over the years. But this? He will never forgive.”

“No, I don’t imagine he will.”

“There is blood between them now,” Rhaella said. She did not know where things would go from here. What she knew was that Aerys had spilled Lyanna Stark’s blood and had spilled the dragon’s blood by the same token. Did unknowingly slaying a babe in its mother’s womb make Aerys a kinslayer, she wondered. And if he knew the lady was with child, would he have stopped his madness?

Whatever the answer was, Rhaella did not want to keep the matter quiet. She wanted the realm to know what this wretched king had done. She wanted the realm to know that the king had sent men to murder his son’s wife, that the lady had barely escaped with her life. She wanted the realm to know that their beloved prince’s heir had been slain because of the king’s madness.

But Arthur had been explicit in his words, Rhaegar did not wish for this news to spread. Not until he was good and ready.

Rhaella figured her son wanted to give Lord Stark the time to speak to his sons first. Then there was the matter of Lyanna’s betrothal to Robert Baratheon to consider as well. Rhaegar had told her upon his return from the north that while Lord Stark had corresponded with their cousin to inform him that the engagement was at an end, he had given Robert Baratheon no further explanations preferring to do so when he was face to face with the storm lord instead. Lord Rickard felt the information too sensitive to entrust to a raven. He did not want it to fall between the wrong hands or for Lord Robert to pretend to never have received his correspondence.

It was the cautious course of action when one considered what Grand Maester Pycelle and Lord Tywin had done with Lord Stark’s letter to Aerys about the possibility of a betrothal between Lyanna and Rhaegar.

“The lords Chelsted and Staunton have put it in Aerys’s head that Rhaegar named Lady Lyanna his queen of love and beauty for political ends. They are unaware what happened in the Great Hall since Aerys has forbidden talk of it, but they are insistent that Rhaegar should be removed from the line of succession.” Ser Gerold poured them wine and swirled his around in his cup before he drank. “I am doing the best that I can, but those two are determined to never see the prince within these walls ever again. Aerys is not budging on this, though. He will not disown Rhaegar. Not yet at least.”

“What says Velaryon?” she asked.

“Nothing. He sits there and says nothing. Neither does Merryweather. All that one does is chuckle at what His Grace says.”

“He always chuckles. That is all he is good for. Aerys should have named Rhaegar his Hand after Duskendale. He was intent on sacking Lord Tywin before our cousin Steffon perished at sea. He should have sent Lannister away and given the Handship to his son. We wouldn’t be here if he had done that.”

“Would that he had listened to sense, but he was never going to go down that path, not after what he was told. You were not there when Barristan brought him out from behind those walls,” he said with a heavy sigh. “He was more beast than man. The first thing Lord Chelsted told him was that Lord Tywin was prepared to let him die inside the walls of Duskendale after telling half the realm that we had a much better king waiting in the wings. The damage was done then and there.”

“These men,” Rhaella’s voice rose, “traitors every last one of them. They are corrupt and have corrupted the realm with their ambitions. What more do they want?”

Ser Gerold put his cup down and cleared his throat. “If a man has a pot of gold, why does he want another? It’s greed, Rhaella. Greed drives men. Lord Tywin wanted to see his grandson sit the Iron Throne for some grand Lannister era. Lords Chelsted and Staunton want more lands, more gold, more of everything. Same with Merryweather. Lord Varys, I don’t know what he wants that one. No one knows what he wants. I never wanted to crush someone half as much as I wanted to crush him that day in the Great Hall. He is the rot in Aerys’s reign.”

“Aerys is the rot in his own reign,” Rhaella replied. “Aerys and his insecurities and his madness and his jealousy of his son. Rhaegar never gave him cause to mistrust him or scorn him, yet here we are. My son is somewhere across the narrow sea with the wife his lord father and king tried to have murdered for dressing in armor and entering the lists at a tourney. I worry for my son. I worry for them. I want them home where they belong.”

“They will come home but only when Rhaegar feels the time is right.” He stared at her face briefly. “You should not worry so much for him. Rhaegar is no longer a boy. He has not been that for a long time now. He is intelligent and resourceful, and he has Arthur and Oswell watching over him.”

He was right, Rhaella knew that. Rhaegar would come back to Westeros when he was good and ready. He would come back a lot sooner if Aerys came to an unfortunate end.

“I remember Aerys when he was a boy,” Ser Gerold said. “He was such a happy boy. It is so difficult for me to reconcile the boy and the man I once knew with this _person_ he has become. I had such hopes when he ascended the throne. Now I find myself questioning every single command he gives me, even the most innocuous ones, like looking under his bed to ensure no assassin is hiding there. My men are miserable. Arthur and Oswell will lose their heads whenever they come back. I promised my niece I would look after Arthur. I failed spectacularly at that.”

“You didn’t. Arthur is a man grown and he made a choices, as did Oswell. They are Rhaegar’s brothers in all but blood and they chose him. Arthur is Rhaegar’s oldest friend. He was never going to let him off on his own. And Rhaegar will never let them lose their heads. Everything they did was for love of him. He’ll not let Aerys come near them.”

Ser Gerold shook his head. “No, he’ll not. But his best efforts to save his little lady from Aerys’s wrath were met with stubbornness and scorn. Arthur’s loyalty was always to Rhaegar. And when he brought Lady Stark to King’s Landing, Arthur became loyal to her as well. He once told me that he never knew Rhaegar could be happy.”

 _I didn’t think he could be happy either. I didn’t think he had it in him,_ Rhaella thought. “She used to disappear for hours after she arrived in King’s Landing. She took to disappearing without so much as a word. It was the Lady Cersei who had brought this up to me some two moon’s turns after the lady had arrived, and I should have known better than to listen to that little viper. I thought the worst of Lady Lyanna then, that there may have been a man she was visiting. So I had her followed down to Flea Bottom several times.”

“That was a mistake,” Ser Gerold said. “The girl has only ever had eyes for Rhaegar.”

“I know that now. He was in love and I feared he would be hurt. I wanted to protect him,” Rhaella replied abashed. “He was so vexed when he found out what I’d done. It was like poking the dragon in him awake. He was so displeased with me.”

“You did not need to send someone so spy on her,” he had said to her with barely contained annoyance and disappointment after he’d found out. “All you had to do was ask her, or ask me. Lya and I do not lie to one another.” And then, “what’s worse is that you listened to Cersei Lannister. When did you start listening to that lunatic?”

He had told her where Lyanna had been going. Rhaella found out that the girl had taken an interest in clay molding and wanted to learn. Rhaegar himself had directed her to a shop down in Flea Bottom and in the back of it, she sat there at the wheel and tried her hand at making clay pots and plates and other things that she painted afterward. She paid for the materials used, but in exchange for lessons, she taught the man’s two sons to read and do sums.

One of the boys had impressed her so much that Rhaegar had defied Aerys’s command to not go down to Flea Bottom and visited him, chatted with him and with his father’s consent, he had sent him to the Citadel with a recommendation. The boy had written him his thanks and told him he had forged two links to his chain already.

Thinking back on this always made Rhaella uncomfortable.

Lyanna had taken to visiting orphans and taking one of Grand Maester Pycelle’s acolytes with her to see to their hurts. She had taken to visiting fishmarkets and pot shops, stopping to chat with this person or that one, people she scarce knew or did not know at all. She listened to what these men and women had to say and passed their words on to Rhaegar. She always came back to the Red Keep with tales and flowers in her arms that had been offered her.

When Rhaella had asked her why, the girl had shrugged. “I enjoy it,” she had said. “I enjoy listening to their stories and I like to know what they are thinking and what they think of us. I want to know what their struggles are. My lord father always said that the smallfolk are the heartbeat of the realm and that we must listen to the heartbeat carefully. This is how the Starks endured eight thousand years. As the smallfolk go, so do we. They are the ones who put the food we eat on our tables and the clothes we wear on our backs.”

Rhaegar used to go down to Flea Bottom often, Rhaella had reflected. He wanted to better the lives of those who he lived there. He wanted to get rid of the smell of shit and pigsties and stables and tanner’s sheds that mixed in with the smell of wineskins and whorehouses. He wanted to pave the alleys as they were paved in Oldtown and put the idle to work. But Lord Varys had come to King’s Landing and Aerys had forbidden his popular son from spending time in Flea Bottom after that. The smallfolk loved Rhaegar and Aerys hated that.

“Lady Lyanna is a good girl. She is lovely and has a kind heart. She will make a good queen someday,” Ser Gerold said. “If news of the loss of the babe and the cause of it was to spread, we may well have a riot on our hands. She and Rhaegar are both well-loved.”

“Do you still believe that? That Rhaegar will be king?”

“With all of my heart, I do. Rhaegar was born to greatness. That boy did not survive the fires of Summerhall to sit idly on the other side of the narrow sea.” He tapped to where he had tucked the sealed piece of parchment in his boot. “Rhaegar has always gone about his business quietly. He will have Lord Stark at his back and perhaps Dorne now. I think the Vale and the riverlands will follow Lord Stark’s lead. Lord Tywin has no love for Aerys. My nephew thinks that the Reach will fall behind Rhaegar should it come to war.”

Rhaella swallowed thickly. “Do you think it will come to that? War?”

“We both know Rhaegar,” Ser Gerold replied. “This is not what he wants. Aerys, though, I don’t know. He is so changeable. If it comes to war, it will be on his end, but he will be isolated. By the time all is said and done, Aerys may have the Crownlands and the stormlands if Robert Baratheon proves to be an utter fool. Aerys has already lost this battle. He will lose the war too.”

She cleared her throat. “And you, Ser Gerold, who will you serve?”

Rhaella loved the old knight. His chambers were one of the very few places in the Red Keep where she could speak freely without fear of anyone listening in.

She looked at this face she knew so well and those dark blue eyes that were looking back at her sadly. Ser Gerold had been like a father to her. Rhaella had come to these very chambers the day her lord father told her she would be marrying Aerys. This is where she had come when she found out she was with child, and this is where she had come when her father and later her mother had died. This is where she had come when she had her first miscarriage and her second. And this is where she had come after her beautiful little daughter had died, followed by her sweet sons later.

This is where she came once a week, if only to sit here and listen to her oldest friend in the world speak of what happened down in the city or at the small council meeting. Ser Gerold had been more a father to her than her own father had been. He had been kind and understanding and patient. He had held her hand when she cried and talked her down when she was furious.

“I remember Summerhall,” she said. “You were the second person ever to hold Rhaegar after he was born. You swaddled him in your cloak.”

Ser Gerold nodded slowly. “I will remember that for the rest of my days. Rhaegar was a ray of hope in the midst of so much death and destruction. I have loved that boy since the day he was born. I have loved him as though he was mine own blood. I have seen him take his first steps and heard him say his first words and seen him fall in love. I have seen him sad and I have seen him happy. It has been a privilege to see him grow to manhood and I pray I will be around to see his sons and daughters be born so that I may love them as much as I have loved him. But I am sworn to Aerys. Those are the vows I have taken, little princess.”

“Yet you are helping Rhaegar.”

“I serve the realm too, my queen. And Rhaegar is what’s best for the realm. Not Aerys and not this small council of lickspittles he has chosen or the people he surrounds himself with. But I will not break my vows further.” He paused and looked over her shoulder for a beat before his eyes settled back on her. “I am tired, Rhaella. I have been a Kingsguard for half of my life. I am nigh on sixty name days now. I was a very young squire during the Peake Uprising and I was there when His Grace King Maekar was killed. I saw Summerhall burn down and people I cared deeply about die. There was nothing I could do to save them. The screams still haunt me to this day. Being named the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard was my proudest moment, yet for all that it left a bitter taste in my mouth. I took command of your lord father’s levies on the Stepstones when Lord Ormund Baratheon fell. Everything I did, I did in service of the realm and I took pride in it. It was my duty, but also a privilege. Now, though . . .”

“Rhaegar will do better. He will give you all that you have lost back. He will give you your pride and dignity back.”

“I know he will. But I am tired, child,” he told her once more. “I am an old done man. If it comes to war, my vows compel me to fight for Aerys. I am sworn to protect him. I will not force any of my men to follow me. This is my madness alone and the choice will be theirs to make. But know this. I will never raise my hand to Rhaegar. I will let him run me through with his sword before I ever raise mine own against him. My vows are what they are. I will die in Aerys’s service or bend the knee to Rhaegar once he takes the Red Keep. I’ll not harm a hair on his head. If the gods are good, it will not come to war, but the Aerys I knew is gone and there is no telling what he will do once Rhaegar challenges his rule openly.”

Aerys will have his eyes turned toward the narrow sea. If he didn't already know where his son was, he would find out soon enough. And Rhaegar would not hide from him, Rhaella knew as much.

“Rhaegar has lived twenty years on his knees. He has lived every day of his life trying to placate his father and king. He finally stood that day in the Great Hall. Now, he would rather die standing than live another day on his knees. He has his wife to think of too,” Ser Gerold whispered.

“Lyanna would much rather he lives.”

“She would and so would you and so would I,” he said. “I would take Rhaegar living, with his eyes cast down and submissive rather than see him in an early grave. But he has made his choice. He made his choice when he married his little lady and he made his choice when he got on his horse and rode to find her. He made his choice when he decided to sail across the narrow sea. A man who has lived on his knees his entire life can never go back to that once he has finally been to stand. There’s no going back to the shackles once a man has freed himself of them. And Rhaegar has shed those for good and all.”

These words frightened her, but they were the hard truths she had to learn to accept. She looked down at her clasped hands before she looked back at Ser Gerold’s lined face. “Ser Jaime said that Lord Tywin is looking for Rhaegar.”

“Let him look,” Ser Gerold replied with a voice filled with scorn. “He wants Rhaegar to use him, not to help him.”

“Do you trust Ser Jaime?”

“I think what’s important is Rhaegar trusts Ser Jaime. The boy must have given him good reason for that. Ser Jaime has a healthy dose of respect for Rhaegar, and a lot of admiration for Arthur and he loves Oswell well. He’ll not betray the trust that was placed in him.”

Somewhat reassured, Rhaella nodded and stood, taking her leave. In her chambers, she sat on her canopy and closed her eyes and let memories wash over her like a tidal wave.

This was where Rhaegar had stood and told her he had married. He had visited here whenever he knew her ladies were about her. Lyanna used to sit in the armchair off in the corner with her parchment and charcoals, making beautiful drawings with a smile upon her face, or thread and needle and a piece of fabric and a murderous look in her eyes. He would stand off in the corner and watch her, his face always lighting up with one of those smiles that reached all the way up to his eyes.

“Do you think she’ll like it,” Rhaegar had asked her one day, dangling a necklace before her eyes.

“It’s beautiful,” she had said, catching the rose between her fingers and examining the work. Blue as frost, crushed diamonds and mother of pearl to mimic snow. Tobho Mott was a master at infusing color in metals. The rose looked like a true winter rose. The back of one the petals was graven with the lady’s initials.

“There is no one in this world I love more than her, Mother,” he had said.

“I don’t think there’s anyone in the world she loves more than you, sweetling,” she had replied.

Rhaella opened her eyes and sighed. The gods seldom listened to her prayers anymore, but just in case, she would go to the Great Sept of Baelor on the morrow and pray to the Mother Above to watch over her them and keep them safe. She would pray to the Crone to raise her lantern and light their way.

 _"There’s no going back to the shackles once a man has freed himself of them. And Rhaegar has shed those for good and all,"_ she heard Ser Gerold’s voice say once more. She shuddered and when she closed her eyes, she saw blood staining the white snows and blood swirl downriver.

She could not hope to sleep after that.


	25. 23: Here or Elsewhere

The manse lay right on the bay, the protective walls around it rising high. Rhaegar had a manse in Lys, and another in Braavos, and this one, in Pentos. “Why there?” Lyanna had asked him after they boarded their ship at Quiet Isle.

“It is the nearest we can be to Dragonstone and King’s Landing.”

“Is it winter there too?”

 _Gods be good,_ he thought. They had left Westeros while the white winds blew about them, slowing their progress. They had crossed the narrow sea in the middle of winter storms. Yet here, summer still held on.

It was sweltering. Even the water in the marble pool had warmed. Rhaegar did not mind warm water. He loved his baths scalding hot, but even this was a bit much for his taste. He could feel beads of sweat form on his forehead that he wiped promptly with the back of his hand. The only thing he was grateful for was the breeze that blew from the sea every now and again.

He could be inside where it was much cooler, but his little wife was there, wearing her chiffon silk dress, that was held together by two thin shoulder straps and two nothing strings of silver that ran under her chest and around her back which was bare. The vee in the front was deep and plunging. He had seen beads of sweat gather in the hollow of her throat and between her breasts while they were breaking their fast earlier. His eyes had flitted from her face, down to her cleavage and he had sighed inwardly before he looked back up at her face to see amusement there. Then she had taken a rather suggestive bite from her sausage which had made him wish he could melt into a puddle.

Rhaegar had never been a man of physical urges. The only urges he had ever known were his dead of the night trips to the library to consult a book, or the itch in his fingers to play his harp. _Things do so change,_ he reflected. And they certainly had changed since she had come into his life. _He_ had changed so much!

Lyanna was recovered from her ordeal, that was true enough. The healer who had looked her over had said as much, but Rhaegar preferred to err on the side of caution which did not please her in the least. _A few more days will not hurt any,_ he told himself.

But between her dress and the finger licking and the way she had been teasing this morning, he wanted to be away from her, so he had gone into the city before returning, bathing and sitting beneath the cherry trees, in the shade they provided, with a book. The heat and humidity made him feel sluggish, so he closed his eyes. 

“I did not think dragons could sweat so profusely,” Lyanna said, startling him.

“Dragons do not sweat,” he said, keeping his eyes firmly shut. He would not look at her, he promised himself. He would not look to see the beads of sweat collected in the hollow of her throat or between her breasts. He would not open his eyes to see her dressed in those light and flowing chiffon silks the Pentoshi women wore, nor would he look at her bare back as she sauntered away from him, her hair and skirts blowing in the breeze. “This is the water from my bath.”

She snorted at him. “I know you don’t believe in toweling off, but come now, my love, you ought to stop with your denials. I still love you even if you're only human.”

He recognized the note of mischief in her voice, then. “Whatever you’re up to, don’t do it.”

“Not up to anything. I am not doing anything.”

He cracked an eye open and then the other. “Put it down,” he said calmly, looking at the pail of water. He got to his feet slowly, put the open book up on a low hanging branch and stretched his arm before him as she hoisted the pail up and supported the bottom with one hand, tilting it dangerously toward him. She pulled back just a little to give herself enough momentum for when she decided to throw the water at him. He thought of taking a step back, but that would be playing right into her hands, so he took a step forward instead.

She seemed surprised by that and narrowed her eyes at him. “What are you doing?” she asked as she raised the pail higher.

“Me?” he said innocently. “Oh, I’m not doing anything.” He took another step forward. He may be soaked from head to heel when this was all said and done, but she would be too. If he was to go down, he would make sure to take her with him. More than that though, he felt relieved to see her playful side emerge again.

It had taken her a while to recover from her injuries, from her miscarriage, from her fever. She had retreated within herself in a way Rhaegar had not expected. His lively girl had been sad and broken. “I don’t know how to feel,” she had confessed one night as they stood on the prow of the ship, sailing past Crackclaw Point. “There’s this part of me that feels so empty because our babe is gone. And there’s this part of me that just feels as though none of this was real because I never knew I was with child.”

He understood that well enough, even after the maester had shown it to him. It had not been longer than an inch and it had been difficult for him to fathom that what he had been looking at was meant to grow into a babe they would have held in their arms after it was born.

They had the ashes in a small box carved from ivory that they had laid to rest in Dragonstone’s crypts beside other Targaryens before they continued on their way to their final destination. Lyanna had held it between her hands with a frown. “I think it was a girl,” she had said. “She should have a name.”

He had not asked her why she had decided that the babe was a girl. Rhaegar had learned long ago to not question female intuition. And if Lyanna thought it was to have been a little daughter, then he would take her word for it.

They had settled on naming her Elaena. Choosing a name somehow made the babe real and they had finally allowed themselves to think of those ashes as what they were. They had made her together. She was their little daughter. They loved her and were sad that she would never be. They wondered if she would have had silver hair or brown hair, or silver hair streaked with brown or brown hair streaked with silver. They wondered if her eyes would have been grey or purple. Regardless of the questions they had, they both thought she would have been beautiful.

Day by day, they shed some of their sadness, but for Lyanna, shedding the trauma of being hunted by Aerys’s sellswords had been more difficult. She looked over her shoulder wherever they went, even while they sailed away from Quiet Isle and then from Dragonstone.

She had not wanted to go to Dragonstone on the off chance that Aerys would have taken the island. He had not, though. Everyone was still in place and happy to see them. The dragon eggs were still exactly where Rhaegar had left them, undisturbed and warm to the touch. But only he felt it. Lyanna still found them cold. The eggs needed warmth, he had told himself when he took them from Winterfell. They had been so long in the cold. He thought he felt life under those hard stony shells. But at this point, who knew.

“Put it down, Lya.”

“I think not. Riddle me this. What does a dragon with a pail of cold water thrown at him look like?” she asked, raising an eyebrow at him and swinging her arms back. "Shall we find out?" The water sloshed over the rim and down to the ground. He felt cold drops seeping through his breeches. He stepped up to her and she took a step back. “Stop where you are, Rhaegar.”

“I don’t think I will,” he replied.

“I will not be responsible for my actions,” she threatened him. She swung her arms forward. The pail slipped from her hands and it upended between them, splashing the both of them. She stared at him for half a heartbeat, somewhat dismayed. “I didn’t mean to do that, it was an accident.” She took a couple of steps back from him, holding her hands up as though to say _'it's not me,'_  then stretched her arm out to warn him away.

“I think what you meant to say was that it was an accident that you splashed water on yourself. You have been threatening me with your pail for the past ten minutes and you would have me believe that half of me is soaking wet by accident?” he asked her, repressing the smile that was threatening to bloom on his lips.

“I was only trying to help. It’s hot, you’re warm. We both win. It will dry. Or you could get changed.”

“I think not.” His eyes strayed to the pool before they strayed back to her.

Lyanna gaped at him for a short moment. “You would _not!”_

“Oh, wouldn’t I?”

“You would ruin my dress!”

Rhaegar shrugged at that. “Buy another one. There’s coin enough for a thousand thousand dresses.” But before the entire sentence was out of his mouth, Lyanna had turned around and run from him. And he gave her chase. This is what she wanted him to do, he knew, and he would oblige her.

She hiked her dress up and ran beside the marble pool, then jumped into the shallow end. He followed behind her, hot on her trail, thankful that he had been as barefoot as she was.

She stopped and kicked water at him. Once. Twice. Three times. And he did the same. The commotion drew some of the household outside as well as Arthur and Oswell. _“Get him,_ my lady,” Oswell yelled out laughing.

Rhaegar stopped and looked at him with narrowed eyes. _“Traitor!_ So much for you being a brother!” he shouted back. But that had distracted him long enough for Lyanna to get a hand on another pail, fill it with water from the fountain and throw it at him. He sputtered and pressed his fingers to his eyes to remove the excess water and stared at his wife who was looking back at him wide-eyed. “I . . . hmm . . . love you?” she said chewing on her lower lip.

Rhaegar snorted at that. “Is that a question or a statement?” he asked her.

“What do you think?”

“That, my sweet, will not help you any.” He ran his fingers in his hair, dripping water all around him. “I think it’s time for you to take a bath. A fully clothed one.”

“You are so bloody awful,” she tossed at him, crossing her arms over her chest. He could see her hardened nipples through the now transparent fabric of her dress.

“Well isn’t that the crow calling the raven black,” he threw back. He lunged at her but quick as a cat, she jumped back with a yelp, turned around and took off. He was unsure how she could run so fast wearing a dress that was so heavy with water. He ran after her. Behind him, he could hear his friends laughing still.

Inside the manse, she went and around the marble pillars she swerved and turned, every now and again, she looked at him over her shoulders with the widest smile he had seen in a while. She laughed when their eyes met and he felt laughter bubble in his throat as well and spill forth from him as he pursued her . . . all the way to their bedchambers, where she went and closed the heavy oaken door behind her.

“You cannot escape,” he said loudly and behind the door, he could hear her giggle. _What a precious sound,_ he thought then. There had been moments when he did not think he would hear the mischief in her voice again, see her smile, let alone hear her laugh like this.

The night before, he had taken her riding on the beach, right below the walls of their manse. Lyanna had not been on a horse on her own since she had been thrown from Comet’s back. With their own horses remaining at Harrenhal, Rhaegar had gifted her a spirited young filly. Lyanna had always been mad for horses and Rhaegar thought it was time for her to get back on the saddle.

She had been hesitant at first, but she kicked off her slippers before he helped her up on the saddle. She had slipped her bare feet into the stirrups and taken a deep breath before she put her heels to the flanks of the filly. It had not been long before she was sprinting down the beach, the hooves of the horse splashing in the waters, her silks snapping in the sea breeze and her hair tousled and wild.

Rhaegar had sat on the sand and stretched his legs before him and was watching her when Arthur plopped down beside him. “It’s good to see her on a horse again,” he had commented, handing him sealed letters. One bore his mother’s seal, one Lord Stark’s, one the griffin of Griffin’s Roost.

His mother gave him news of King’s Landing, including that Aerys had made no moves to disown him. Lord Stark said he would visit after his son’s wedding. Rhaegar thought Lyanna would be happy to see her lord father.

Jon Connington, he had sent a raven to before his departure from Harrenhal and asked him to find a pretext to visit his mother’s kin in the westerlands. “Lord Tywin is looking for me,” Rhaegar had told Arthur as he scanned the letter.

His friend had snorted at that. “Whatever for? To help you, or to use you against Aerys?”

“A little bit of this and more of that, but mainly because he wants me to owe him, I should think. He will likely push for me to marry his foul daughter, even though I am already married, or he will try to force my hand into releasing Ser Jaime from his vows. He will be getting none of his wishes, however.” He stared at the last piece of correspondence, the one with the hard orange wax. “What do you think he wants?”

Arthur shrugged. “Oberyn has always gone his own way as you well know. Who ever knows with him? It is possible Lewyn is behind this. What is she doing?” He asked looking at Lyanna.

“Trying to prove a point,” Rhaegar had replied, watching his little wife lift herself from the saddle, pulling one leg up to it, then the other, before she stood. It reminded him of the first time he saw her do this and how his heart had lodged in his throat until she had finally reined her horse in. _I used to juggle and balance on my horse while it galloped,_ she had told him while they were at Summerhall. She called it half a truth when she admitted that she could not do both at the same time, something for which Rhaegar had been tremendously grateful for. He called her boasting half a life. She had not liked that.  

“Rhaegar, she is fine. Better you acknowledge that than have her break her neck trying to prove that she is. She is eating, she has gained the weight she had lost while she was ill and during the crossing. She was at the archery butts with Oswell and that dragonbone bow you spent a small fortune to buy her. She was in the yard with me. She has managed to put most of her ordeal behind her. She is happy.”

“I already know all that.”

“Then what’s the problem?” Arthur had asked.

“I almost lost her,” Rhaegar said. “She almost died, Arthur. There were moments while I sat beside her . . . I thought I would be taking her back north in a shroud. I saw myself arriving at the gates of Winterfell and telling her father I had brought her home to be buried beside her mother.” Looking at her now, no one would guess how close she had come to dying.

Rhaegar’s eyes followed Lyanna. After a while, she pulled her horse to a stop and jumped down, where the salt water met the white sands. She patted the filly’s neck, then let go of the reins. She slowly stepped into the surf, ankle deep and looked across the horizon to where Westeros lay.

Slowly, her silhouette became darkened by the fading light of the sun. Rhaegar felt his breath catch in his throat. She looked beautiful standing there, with her long hair lifting in the breeze and the dampness of the early evening air making her dress look like a second skin as it clung to the shape of her body, outlining every single one of her curves.

He cleared his throat. “I wake in the middle of the night and watch her chest rise and fall. There are times it’s not enough to reassure me that she’s alive and well, so I put my hand near her nose to make sure she still breathes.”

“This is no way to live,” Arthur said. “You need to work through this fear you have.”

“Every day I look at her and I wonder what would have happened if she had died.”

“She didn’t die, though. Look at her. She is here. I daresay she’ll not be going anywhere for a long time still. Embrace your second chance at her and your life with her, or cause problems in your marriage and live to regret it. You can’t keep her at arm’s length for fear you will hurt her. Are you a maester?”

“No.”

“Did the maester say her injuries made her barren, or that you could not lay with her?”

“No.”

“Does she complain that she is in pain?”

“No.”

“It’s not like you to create problems where there are none, Rhaegar. If the maester told you she was healthy and the healer here says that she is healthy and she says she is fine, then what’s the issue?”

 _“I_ am the issue. I have done wrong by her. I have broken the promises I made to protect her. I failed her, I failed the child we made together. In my life, never have I felt as much a failure as I did when we rode to Harrenhal with her bleeding against my side, or when I sat by her sickbed. I was the crown prince and it wasn’t enough to protect her or save her. It weighs heavy on me every day. What use is having power if I can’t wield it to protect those I love? I don’t think I’m near as strong or brave as she is.”

“You are only a man, Rhaegar, not a god. You are a prince, aye, but it’s the king who gave the orders and he would not listen to reason. You did all that you could to get to her in time. The gods were on your side. Be it our gods or hers, we were guided to her and Oswell that night. What horse knows where to find its rider, tell me that. That horse led us straight to her mistress. It was as though a divine force was at our backs.”

He’d felt that too, that night. Midnight had found Comet and she had taken them straight to Lyanna.

“After we came back from the tourney at Lannisport, you said you thought Lyanna was a gift from the gods. You told me you felt as though the gods had answered your prayers and gave you her. Be it the Seven or the old gods, they gave her back to you. This is what matters in the end. Not everyone gets a second chance. Do not squander what you have with worry.”

Arthur had stood and left him on the sand alone, but it hadn’t been long before Lyanna had joined him there. They sat a while, watching the last of the sun recede beyond the horizon and as the night began to fall, the first stars appeared, specks in the distance. “She is up there, our little one. I dreamed that she was with my lady mother. After Mother passed, Brandon told me that she was up in the stars, watching over us,” she had finally broken the silence. “I am happy here,” she then said. “It’s so uncomplicated. I know we will have to go back, but right now, I am happy.” She had leaned her head against his shoulder and he had wrapped his arm around her, and pulled her into his body.

He had been right, Arthur, Rhaegar reflected as he put a hand to the door and pushed it open. He peeked his head inside and looked around. Lyanna was standing on the other side of the bed, still giggling, her cheeks flushed becomingly. “Come here,” he said.

She shook her head slowly as she ran the tip of her tongue over her teeth. “The idea is that _you_ have to catch me.”

“You know your only exit from here is through the balcony and down the vine?” he stared at her for half a heartbeat. “Don’t even think about it!” he told her before he jumped on the bed and ran across it to where she had been standing and tried to catch her arm. She squealed with delight and took a step back, laughing.

"The washerwoman will smother you in your sleep for those stains!"

Rhaegar looked behind him and winced at the black marks he had left on the pristine sheets. "I'll double the guard." The woman put the fear of the gods in him. He would have to apologize and cajole.

"Like that'll stop her!"

He jumped down and with two quick strides he had her cornered against the wall, both his hands braced there, by her head. She looked up at him, her eyes glinting with playfulness and spoke with a voice filled with innocence. “Whatever will you do with me, now, Your Grace?”

“This,” he replied, bending his head and catching her lips with his and kissing her deeply and hungrily. He had not kissed her like this since they had been alone in the godswood of Winterfell, sitting beneath the heart tree. When he broke away from her and looked down at her face, she smiled up at him. “It wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“Do you want to tell me how wrong I was, or do you want me inside you?” he asked her, putting his hand behind his neck and tugging his drenched tunic off, discarding it on the ground.

“Oh, I most definitely want you inside me,” she replied, her hands working the laces of his breeches and pushing them down to free him. “But make no mistake, husband, I will still be telling you how wrong you were.” He lifted her off her feet and her legs wrapped around his hips and after he pushed her dress out of his way, he took her there against the wall. It had been frantic and wanting and it somehow did not seem like it was enough even after he had spilled his seed inside her.

Afterward, when they were both lying on their bed, he ran a finger over the nasty scar the arrow and the boiling wine and the burning blades had left on her skin. She caught his hand and looked at him. “I am fine,” she said.

“I know,” he replied, examining the arm that was closest to him for the bruises she had sustained during her ordeal and the leeching she had been subjected to. They had lingered longer and he could not look on them without feeling the worst kind of shiver run up and down his spine. They were mercifully gone now.

She turned to her side and pressed her forehead against the side of his head. “I wish you would trust my judgement,” she said.

“I trust your judgement. I don’t want to see you hurt further than you already were, is all.”

“There hasn’t been a single moment when you have hurt me, Rhaegar. Not with your words or your hands. You never played with my emotions or my heart. I don’t want you to start now because you fear you might hurt me. I'm not so fragile.” She was looking at him intently. “Darling, nothing that’s happened was your fault. I don’t even blame Aerys as much as I blame Lord Varys.”

“How can you not blame my father for this?” he asked her bewildered.

“Don’t mistake me. He does share part of the blame but I have come to pity him,” she said. “He is a scared man whose wits have somewhat fled him. He receives poor counsel from men who would see the realm burn. Everyone of them has tried to turn him against you. They are who I blame most in all of this. Do you think we would be here if Lord Varys had never come to Westeros or if he the small council was not made of flatterers? Do you think we would be here if Tywin Lannister was not an overambitious and grasping man?”

“They will all pay for this.”

“Rhaegar,” she put her hand to his chest and ran her thumb up and down there. “This is not who you are.”

“No, it’s not, but sometimes a man has to do things he despises.”

She turned his head to face her and kissed him. “Do not become him. Promise me.”

Rhaegar turned to his side and looked at her. He ran a hand down her waist to the curve of her hip. “I will never become him. You have my word.”

“Next time you are so eager to protect me, Rhaegar, or you feel guilty over something you have no reason to feel guilty over . . .”

“I’ll not shut you out,” he breathed out.

“Good. Now,” she traced his lips with her forefinger, “I believe we have some catching up to do?”

He nodded eagerly at that. “I believe so.” He couldn't help the smile when she molded her body to his and dragged her lips from his chin up to his own.

Much later, when he was lounging outside in the long chair, harp in hand, she joined him. “I woke up and you were gone.”

“The noise from the harbor woke me. The red priests are at their night fires,” he replied, throwing his hand up and pulling her down between his legs. She laid there, with her back resting against his chest. She plucked a note from the harp and it made him smile. “My lady aunt insisted I learn to play an instrument,” she said. “Poor woman. When I think on some of things I put her through.”

“Pull this one,” he pointed to the third string, “right here.” When she did, he pulled at another string. “This one now,” he said. She did and he pulled another.

“Are you making a new song?”

He shrugged. “Just enjoying the sounds,” he said. “I am happy here too,” he finally told her. He already knew that, but today had been like opening those gates and letting himself be and grabbing onto what was before him just as he had from the moment he had met her.

“I know you are happy. I heard it in the way you laughed today, like there was nothing holding you back and I saw it in the way your were smiling. True, genuine smiles. I remember the first time you smiled like that for me.”

“When was that?” he asked her, though he already knew the answer.

“At Summerhall, when it was just the two of us, standing in the stream trying to catch fish.”

It was always odd to think that something so beautiful and happy was born in such a tragic place. “I was happy. I will always cherish those memories. After that, thinking of you always made me smile.”

“And thinking of you made me sad,” she confessed. Rhaegar looked at her confused. She had never said that to him. “Why would thinking of me make you sad?” he asked her.

“Because your life was elsewhere as was mine. I loved you, but I knew you would marry where Aerys bid you as I would have to marry where my father bid me. I loved you, but I never thought you would return my feelings or be mine.”

“I was yours then, standing in that stream, though I didn’t know it yet. And I am yours now, sitting here. And I will be yours on the morrow, and every day thereafter for the rest of my days. I will be grey and old and senile and you will wonder why the gods inflicted me upon you.”

“You are wrong. Even when you are grey and old and senile,” she rolled her eyes at him, “I will never see you as anything other than the man I love. I will still see you as the boy standing atop the Wall looking down at the haunted forest, and I will still see you as the boy with the dark hair standing in the stream with his breeches rolled up to his knees, with that stubborn determined look on his face, and I will see you as you are now, sitting here with me, under the stars.”

“My beautiful girl,” he whispered kissing her hand.

"Of course, I will have a paramour. Perhaps one from Lys, trained in the way of the seven sighs." She winked at him.

He laughed at that. "You are terrible and you ought to learn when to stop talking," he told her. "I'm sure I heard you sigh several times today."

"Oh, I most certainly did. You could make me sigh again if you felt so inclined." She pulled another string on the harp and then another and another.

“Sing for me,” he said.

She chortled. “Sing for you? Have you gone deaf or mad?”

Rhaegar gaped at her. “I have gone neither deaf nor mad, I will have you know, wife.” Her voice was not so bad, but her brother Brandon had put it in her head that it was terrible with his teasing. _“I was once told the Wall would crumble if I kept it up. I would much rather not tempt fate.”_

“Sing for me,” he repeated picking up the harp.

“You know, my voice has not improved any since the last time you heard me sing.”

He snorted.“I like your voice. Come, Lya. Sing for me. I think it's only fair.”

She looked down at the harp, then at his face. “Mayhaps I will be able to say no to you when you have grown grey and old and senile.”

He scoffed at that. “Yes. Absolutely. You will only be able to say no to me then. You say no to me all the time, dearest.”

“What a filthy _filthy_ little liar you are,” she said jokingly before she stood and inhaled a deep breath. “A bear there was, a bear, a bear! All black and brown, and covered with hair. The bear! The Bear!” she sang loudly.

Rhaegar threw his head back and laughed. “Really?” he asked her between two laughs. “The Bear and the Maiden Fair? I thought you would choose Iron Lances or the Night That Ended.”

“Oh, I apologize, Your Grace. Did you want to choose a song for me to sing?”

“Might I?”

“No, you may not! Beggars can’t be choosers, _dearest,”_ she told him putting her hands to her hips. There was mirth in her eyes, and their color kept changing in the light of the torch. They were grey now, then they were blue. “Do I have a horn to sound for the Night That Ended when the Night's Watch rides forth to confront the Others?” she asked him.

“No,” he said, “but you can pretend.”

“Don’t be silly. A true horn or no song. Now hush! Where was I?”

Rhaegar laughed again, feeling tears gather in his eyes. He had not laughed like this in a while. “Really? The verse that has the word _‘bear’_ in it. Pick one,” he replied sarcastically. She picked up the small pillow that lay at his feet and threw it at him. He moved his head to dodge it. “Oh, come they say, oh come to the fair!” He began pulling at the strings of his harp and the melody rose in the night.

“The fair? Said he, but I’m a bear! All black and brown, and covered with hair!” He watched her as she flailed her arms dramatically about and danced around. More laughter bubbled in his throat. By the time she was done, his belly was aching from laughing so hard and his eyes were wet with tears.

He put his harp down and applauded her. She bowed as mummers did at the end of an act. “That was beautifully done,” he said with laughter still in his voice. He turned to his side and pulled a rose from the nearest vine. After that he tugged her back down by the strings of her robe and tucked the flower in her hair when she sat beside him. “For my wonderful singer,” he said. She reached with her thumbs and wiped the wetness from under his eyes.

“I’m sure I heard a hint of sarcasm in your tone.”

“No sarcasm. I promise. This was the most fun I have had since we were on Dragonstone.” She was looking at him with unrestrained joy, he saw. He could feel the air crackle and grow thick around them. So he pulled her down to him and kissed her as he had been doing most of the day. He could taste her smile and her happiness on her lips.

She brushed his hair back and tucked it behind his ears several times before it finally stayed. Since he had had it cut to brush just over his shoulders, it was in his face more often than not. Lyanna would tie it back for him with one of her ribbons. “Do we have to go back?” she asked, her voice small. “I can go back to being Daena and you can go back to being Harper, although I think we ought to find you another name. What do you think of Pate?”

“Like Pate the Pig Boy?” he snorted. “I think not. What’s wrong with Harper?”

“I am sorry to say, my love, but it is a very boring name.”

“No, it’s not,” he defended.

She shrugged. “We can go to Braavos. You can write mummer shows and I can perform them. I can be your star performer. And everyone across Essos and Westeros would know our names and they will come to watch what you wrote come to life.”

“Would that we could,” he said wistfully. He sighed heavily. “Is this what you want? Remain here or go to Braavos?” he asked her.

“Rhaegar,” she whispered his name. “There is nothing in my entire life that is more important to me than you. There is no one I love more than you, my darling. So long as we are together, I don’t care where we end. Here or elsewhere, it makes no matter to me.”

He swallowed thickly and searched her eyes. He knew her and he knew her words held only truth in them. He hoped he would not fail her. She always supported him and put her trust in him. She put herself between his hands and he would not disappoint her. When they returned to King’s Landing, it would be as rulers, or they would not return at all. Never again would he put her life at risk as he had. He would not make his move unless he was certain he would win.

He hugged her closer to him before he let her go. “Come,” he kissed her brow before he stood and pulled her up to her feet. “Let’s get you back inside for a few sighs.”


	26. 24: The Rose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brandon figures out some things.

His sister had been much on his mind since he had put her on the Manderly ship and sent her back to Winterfell. Brandon had not liked the way they had left things and had hoped they would be able to clear the air between them before he married. But that was until a message penned by Maester Walys had come for him at Riverrun, letting him know that her journey had been delayed by the storms and to not expect her.

He had been disappointed by that. He had wanted to pretend none of the nastiness at Harrenhal had happened. He had wanted to speak to her about the boy Lord Hoster Tully fostered and who was in love with Catelyn, Brandon’s own betrothed. He wanted to tell Lyanna how he had almost killed the boy during a duel for the hand of a girl he did not really want to marry. Brandon had taken to the road after that.

He could not bear being at Riverrun a moment longer.

Lyanna would have understood him. She was the only one who would have understood what was in his heart. She would have nodded at him and embraced him and whispered to him to go as far away as he could and to make his own adventures. Thinking of her made him miss her all the more.

Brandon had been betrothed since he was four-and-ten. He was at his swords and at his horses then. His lord father had summoned him back to Winterfell after the deal had been brokered and Brandon had met the news of his impending nuptials with a shrug and gone back to his daily occupations. He took his lessons with the maester, sat with his father while he heard petitions, trained in the yard, raced his sister up and down the kingsroad and was returned to Barrowton and his foster family.

Brandon had always known he would have to marry. It was something that was near beaten into his head since he had been old enough to understand. Brandon knew his duty, though he was not eager to perform it. What Brandon had wanted with all of his heart was to take a ship for Essos, join one of the free companies and fight. There was the Company of the Rose and the Second Sons and the Golden Company. Any of them could have used a good fighter in the wars that erupted between the Free Cities.

Fight during the day and drink and fuck at night, that was the life Brandon wanted.

 _I should have been born the second son,_ he sighed, throwing his legs over the side of the bed he had slept in. He ran quick fingers through his mussed hair and padded to the basin to wash. “It’s time for you to go,” he looked over his shoulder at the whore and felt mildly irritated by her presence. She was supposed to be gone.

“I thought I could pleasure m’lord again,” she tossed the covers aside, “with my mouth, this time. I’m quite good at it.” She rolled her hips forward and stood, making her way to him, brushing her naked body against his, her hand making a grab for his cock.

“Not interested,” he said pushing her hand away. “Your silver stag is on the table. Get dressed and go.”

“Did m’lord not enjoy . . .”

“. . . m’lord prefers Tansy, Leslyn. Tansy is as good with her cunt as she is with her mouth. And she was otherwise occupied when I arrived here. You’re pretty enough,” he said looking at the whore’s big clear blue eyes and short yellow hair, “but Tansy is like a wildcat and I like the women I fuck to give as good as they get.”

He always asked for Tansy whenever he came to the Peach at Stoney Sept. The Peach was nothing like Chataya’s brothel in King’s Landing, but the girls were pretty enough and the place was as clean as any inn that doubled as a whorehouse would ever be. The girl dressed, took her coin and left the room. Brandon dressed himself slowly. His other friends should be here by now and waiting for him downstairs to break their fast and he was famished.

“Heard the girl scream,” Ethan Glover said and Brandon shrugged as he took his seat across from him. “A silver stag is worth a few screams, I should say,” he replied, taking his squire’s horn of ale and drinking from it. “My father should start making his way down from Winterfell sometime this week, I think.”

He had been gone from Riverrun a long while now. He had gone to the Rills to pay Barbrey Ryswell a visit. Afterward, he had ridden to down to Gulltown and taken a ship to Weeping Town. On the way there, they had stopped at Dragonstone to take water and provisions. He heard from the crew that Prince Rhaegar would not be the one inspecting the ship and the holds as he was in King’s Landing. Brandon had been grateful for that much at least. If Rhaegar was on Dragonstone, it meant that Ser Arthur would be there as well and that would have been an awkward and angry encounter between all three.

At Weeping Town, Brandon had gotten on his horse and wondered if he should turn south, toward the Boneway and into Dorne or if he should turn north toward his duty. He had chosen north. With much regret. What he should have done was take a ship that was headed to Essos. His father would have been wroth if he had done that, but he would have had a much better heir in Ned. He wondered if he received any letters from Winterfell. 

“And Ned?”

“He said he and Robert and my lord uncle would be leaving within the fortnight before the wedding last I saw him,” Elbert Arryn looked up from his fried bread and bacon. “I am looking forward to seeing your lady sister. To think she could have become the Lady of the Eyrie and the Vale once I came into my lands and titles,” he said ruefully.

“You should have spoken to my father before he gave her away to Baratheon.” This only irritated Brandon, that the heir to the Vale had expressed interest in Lyanna, but had never broached the subject of a marriage with old Jon Arryn or with Brandon’s lord father. Elbert had watched her from the sidelines and had been miserable after he found out she had been betrothed to Lord Robert.

Elbert Arryn was everything Robert Baratheon was not. He was sweet and gentle, clever, kind, chivalrous and brimming with courtesy. He was handsome as well, though he lacked some of Robert's charisma. But for the occasional wench, he did not whore around and Brandon was certain he would keep to one bed once he was married. His quiet personality would have suited his wild sister’s better than Robert’s boastful one.

Brandon thought Lyanna may have been far happier with the young falcon than she would ever be with the stag. With all that, though, Brandon thought the Eyrie would have become a prison for his sister, no matter how well Elbert treated her or how much he cared for her. Lyanna wanted freedom and the Eyrie was the furthest thing from that, perched high on its mountain as it were.

Done was done, though as far as he knew a date had yet to be set. Lyanna would marry Robert Baratheon and resume her life at Storm’s End as his bride. She would be miserable and might kill the man if she did not jump to her death from one of the walkwalls first. Brandon and Lyanna were raised to duty and they would both do as they were bid no matter how they felt.

“You could always ask her to dance at the wedding,” he said.

“Ah, yes!” Elbert replied sarcastically. “There is nothing more thrilling than knowing her betrothed is heavily drinking and watching and wondering whether he will decide to challenge me to a duel. I could feel his eyes burning the back of my head when last I danced with her at Harrenhal and I have not forgotten how he was looking at Prince Rhaegar when _he_ danced with her.”

Harrenhal was something Brandon would sooner forget. He had not missed the way Rhaegar Targaryen’s eyes had scarce strayed away from Lyanna. He had not liked that but at all, the way he had been looking at her. He looked at her like he _wanted_ her. He looked at her like she was more to him, like she wasn’t just some lady in his royal mother’s entourage.

It had enraged Brandon. It had enraged him even more that his sister had spent months and months on Dragonstone just with him and the queen for company. After that, there had been little doubt in his mind that the prince may have tried to seduce her. But Lyanna knew better than to let herself be seduced. She held men like that in contempt, in the same way she held him and Robert in contempt for their behaviors.

But all of that was nothing compared to the way he felt when Rhaegar Targaryen had put the crown of winter roses down on her lap with the tip of his lance. It had been the look on her face, the emotions flickering in her eyes before she had tamped them down that made Brandon see red.

He had wanted nothing more than to take that crown of winter roses and beat the prince with it. He had wanted to run him through with his sword. Rhaegar Targaryen had tarnished Lyanna’s honor and Brandon had wanted to kill him. He still did whenever he thought of Harrenhal and all that happened there.

“There are some rumors coming up the kingsroad,” Elbert said. “We stopped at the crossroads before making our way here and there was talk that there will be no lavish wedding at the Great Sept of Baelor. Prince Rhaegar’s betrothal to Elia Martell has been broken.”

Brandon looked at him wide-eyed. “That can’t be true. Prince Rhaegar has a stubborn streak, that’s true enough, but he always does as he is bid. He is nothing if not dutiful. What else did you hear?”

“Some nonsensical talk about him already being married,” Elbert said, looking to their other companions, Kyle Royce and Jeffory Mallister.

Brandon snorted at that. “And to whom, pray tell?” he asked.

“We didn’t hear the name,” Kyle Royce said. “Like as not some common girl, like Jenny of Oldstones. I don’t see the king objecting to him marrying the girl if she was some lord’s daughter.”

“Doubtful. The entire realm knows Rhaegar did not take well to his betrothal to Elia Martell and took himself to Dragonstone in protest. He stayed there nigh on a year. His Grace has kept his son on a short leash for a long time, I think he’s had enough of that. Rhaegar may present a mild-mannered front, but he’s anything but. He’s extremely determined, my lord uncle says. If there is truth in the rumor, then I wager he got exactly what he wanted.”

“There is also gossip about the mystery knight. They say it was some girl who dressed in armor and entered the lists.”

“I’ll have what he’s having,” Brandon said pointing to the fried bread and bacon when the serving girl put his horn of ale on the table. “A girl? Girls have weak arms. Those lances are too heavy. The girl has to be an excellent horse rider . . .” His voice trailed into uncertainty.

It was like a punch in the gut, the realization. Lyanna was an accomplished rider, and much _much_ better than most men Brandon knew. She had proved as much with her performances in every race during the tourney. The men who had been challenged to the lists were the ones whose squires she and Howland Reed had identified and pointed out to him and Ned and Benjen during the feast.

 _Gods be good. She entered the lists,_ Brandon was certain of it. She had challenged the knights, beaten all three of them and did not return the following day. Aerys had been so wroth when the mystery knight had not shown that he had sent Rhaegar to find him. The prince had returned with the shield alone.

He suddenly recalled Benjen in the armory, looking at the old shields and sniggering when he found one painted with the colors of House Lothston who used to hold Harrenhal before the Whents. He said his own shield had splintered and he was looking for one to use during practice.

 _T_ _hat little liar!_ Brandon thought. Ben and Lya had always been thick as thieves and the distance between them had not changed that. Benjen had probably been looking for a shield for their sister to carry into the joust, Brandon surmised. Lyanna had more than likely painted her laughing tree over the black bat of Lothston.

Brandon always said it, his sister had been in need of a good thrashing when she was younger to cure her from these mad impulses. She was too much like him, but their lord father never let him get away with half as much as he let Lyanna get away with. Lyanna may have lamented most of her life being born without a cock, but as Brandon could attest, it had saved her from a few beatings.

“What was the rest of that sentence?”

Brandon shook his head. “Nothing. Girls enjoy watching the jousts, not participating in them.”

“Lady Lyanna would enjoy participating.”

“She would, but she knows what it would mean if she ever did. When she wanted to carry a sword, my lord father forbade her. The same would have happened with the jousting. My sister is as hard headed as they come, but she wouldn’t dare.”

She had dared, though, hadn’t she? She was gone from the stands well before the mystery knight had taken the field and had stayed gone a long while after night had fallen, until the doors of the Hall of a Hundred Hearths had been pushed open by Ser Oswell Whent and she stepped inside on the arm of Rhaegar Targaryen.

Brandon had never felt more annoyed than when he had seen them together. He had forced Lyanna to dance with a drunken Robert Baratheon during the opening feast when he saw Prince Rhaegar's unnatural eyes sunk deep into her. He had hoped the prince would understand that she was taken, spoken for. Yet it did not seem to deter him. Not only had he come into the hall with her, but he had invited her to dance as well and he had stuck by her side, with his hand lingering on the small of her back. They had talked and laughed and eaten from the same bowl. They had been completely oblivious to the people looking at them, whispering about them. The longer Brandon stayed in the hall, the angrier he had become, so he had left and found his way to Ashara Dayne.

“If you go anywhere near my sister again, I will kill you,” Brandon had threatened the prince in his pavilion after he had given Lyanna the laurels of queen of love and beauty.  

“Do not presume to give me orders, my lord, or threaten me,” Prince Rhaegar had looked at him with cool eyes from where he had been sitting, a cup of wine in his hand, his tunic sticking to his sweat-soaked torso after the joust.

“I will say whatever I well please. You besmirched my sister’s honor,” Brandon spat.

“Besmirched her honor?” Arthur Dayne had advanced on him. “Like you besmirched my sister’s honor when you bedded her?” he had asked him. “The only reason you live is because Prince Rhaegar bid my brother not harm you. I can assure you that my brother’s reputation as the best swordsman in Dorne is a well-earned one. He would turn you into a sieve.”

Lyanna had looked at him with disbelief. “You _bloody_ fool! Hypocrite! How could you, Bran? Barbrey Ryswell and the string of girls in taverns and inns and brothels weren’t enough for you?”

“Shut your mouth, Lyanna, or I will shut it for you.”

“Raise your hand to her and I will have your head,” Rhaegar had replied calmly. The prince had stood from his seat and put himself between Brandon and Lyanna.

“And I will slit your throat for you if you so much as sniff around my sister again,” Brandon had replied pulling Lyanna by the arm to him. Ser Arthur had unsheathed _Dawn_ and held the point to his throat.  

“You presume far too much, my lord,” Prince Rhaegar had said pushing the blade away. Ser Arthur lowered it, but did not sheathe it. “I hold your sister in the highest regard. That is the only reason you live after what you have done.”

“Highest regard?” Brandon had scoffed at that. “My lady sister was in the Red Keep attending Her Grace the queen. She was not betrothed and neither were you. Where was your interest in her, then? You could have written my lord father and spoken to His Grace. She might be the one you are betrothed to today,” he said. “No. I have known men like you my entire life. What you want is to spread her legs and fuck her, maybe plant a bastard in her belly before you discard her like some piece of trash. You want your proper little wife and you want your whore. That is what you want. You have no honor.”

 _You are no different than me when it comes to women,_ Brandon almost added, but that would not do.

“Is that what my sister is?” Arthur Dayne had asked, angry. “Your whore? A piece of trash to discard so that you may have your proper little wife? You are the _last person_ who should be casting stones. And you speak of honor? Pray tell, where was the honor in what _you_ have done? Tell me, my lord, are you going to marry the woman you defiled?”

“You should not speak of things you know nothing of, my lord,” Prince Rhaegar had said looking at him, holding Arthur by the arm.

“Here’s what I know. My sister is betrothed and you should not be spending time with her, nor should you be crowning her your queen of love and beauty.” He looked at his sister. “You are going home, Lyanna.”

“I am not going to Winterfell. Her Grace is expecting me.”

“Her Grace can do without you. She has no lack of girls who would eagerly take your place. You are going to Winterfell and you will _remain_ in Winterfell. Do you hear me? You disappoint me. I thought you above this. I can’t even look at your face.”

She had been so angry with him. “And you think I can look at yours? You are disgusting. You are no different than Robert Baratheon. Is there a bastard you have that we should know of?”

“Mind _your tongue,_ or so help me.”

“I hate you _so much,_ Brother. Those are words I never thought I would use for someone I loved as much as you I love you. But gods help me, _I hate you.”_

“March, or I will march you out,” he had ordered her, nearly shoving her out of the pavilion.

“Lya,” Prince Rhaegar had spoken and she had turned around and looked at him. “I will see you soon.” She had nodded at that.

“She is Lady Lyanna Stark to you. And you will keep your distance from her if you know what’s good for you,” Brandon told him.

Brandon had not seen Lyanna since he had escorted her and Benjen to Maidenpool with Wyman Manderly and his knights. She had not spoken a word to him after she had told him she hated him. She had kept her silence and her distance during their journey and that Maester Walys was the one to inform him that she was delayed told him that she was angry still with him.

 _I was only trying to protect her,_ he told himself for the thousand thousandth time. There were things Lyanna did not understand and a man’s nature was one of them. Lyanna thought men were honorable like their lord father or their good-doer brother, Ned. No. The world was filled with sods like himself and Robert Baratheon and Rhaegar Targaryen.

Lyanna was beautiful and Brandon had seen men look at her as she walked past them. He had heard the crude comments about her figure and some fool hedge knight wondered aloud to his friends if she rode a cock as well as she rode her horse. That one had lost a few teeth to Brandon’s fist.

“There is some rumor that Prince Rhaegar is preparing to usurp his father’s throne,” Kyle Royce cut through his thoughts.

“We should not speak those words,” Elbert Arryn replied in a hushed tone.

Brandon became bored with the conversation. He took a bite from his fried bread and gazed at his squire who looked pensive. “What’s wrong with you?” he asked him. “Not enough sleep?”

The boy shook his head and pointed his chin over Brandon’s shoulder. He turned and looked. A pretty little thing, he thought, looking at the girl with brown hair, soft brown doe eyes and freckled nose. She could not have been more than eight-and-ten. A new peach, if he had to guess. Brandon felt his mouth go dry and took a swallow of ale before he set his horn back down. He licked his lips as his eyes trailed from the girl’s face to her round small breasts.

He frowned as his gaze became focused on the necklace she wore about her slender neck, the heavy pendant resting there atop her breasts for all to see.

There could not be two alike, it was impossible. Lyanna’s pendant had been commissioned and made in King’s Landing by a jeweler and the color had been infused into it by Tobho Mott, she had explained to him. It was a beautiful piece, an iron rose, blue as frost, with some of its petals inlaid with mother-of-pearl and crushed diamond that were meant to look like a dusting of snow. The chain had five little roses and his sister used to wear it looped twice around her neck where it would sit against the hollow of her throat before she had taken to wearing it long and under her clothes. It was a simple piece that Lyanna had worn every day with her simpler clothes, she had told him.

He signaled the girl and she came to the table, a wide smile upon her face. “M’lords,” she said.

Brandon smiled at her and stared at the necklace, then the pendant. “Say,” he began, “where did you get such a lovely necklace?” He passed his fingers between the chain and the girl’s skin and slid them down all the way to the top of her breasts where the winter rose was. He looked at it.

The girl frowned. “Did you want a refill of ale?”

“No. I want an answer to my question,” Brandon replied.

“What’s this about, Brandon,” Elbert asked him.

Brandon looked from the rose to the girl’s face. This did not belong to her, he knew as much. Had his sister come through here and left it behind? Surely she would not have spent the night here. Or she may have. Brandon did not know what Lyanna did or what she was up to.

“I bought it, m’lord.” The woman pulled away from him suddenly and so quickly, the chain broke and the pendant remained in his hand.

“Did you buy it, or did you steal it?” he asked. He looked at her. “Sit,” he said. But she remained standing. “My soon to be good-father is Lord Hoster Tully of Riverrun. He doesn’t take well to thieves and neither does my lord father, Rickard Stark of Winterfell. I could deliver you to Lord Hoster’s noose or I can take your head for theft, because that’s what we do in the north. We take heads. The choice is yours, girl. You sit and you tell me where you got this or you will meet your end much sooner than you would like to.”

“I didn’ steal nothing,” she said standing defiantly but her voice shook. “It's mine.”

Brandon looked down at the pendant in his hand before he looked back at the whore. “Pray tell, how many men do you fuck in a day to be able to afford such a fine piece of jewelry?”

She gave him a stubborn look. “Might be I’m real good at what I do,” she said. “Try me and see for yourself. What I have betwixt my legs is worth a dragon every time.”

Brandon snorted. “Somehow I doubt that. Mother-of-pearl, diamonds. I doubt you could afford that even if you spent a year on your back.”

“How I could afford it is not your concern.”

“It is my concern, whore.” He grabbed her hand pulled her down to the bench. His companions were staring at him. “You see, my little sister has the exact same necklace as you. Winter roses are her favorite flowers since she was old enough to know what she loves and what she hates. She had it made down in King’s Landing while she was attending Her Grace, Queen Rhaella. If I turn it around, I will find her initials inscribed behind it. So you can tell me the truth now, or I will name you a liar and a thief and who will believe a whore over the son and heir of the Warden of the North.”

“She’s not like to speak if you scare her, Bran,” Elbert Arryn said.

Brandon ignored him. He flipped the rose around in his hand to show her where Lyanna’s initials were, but stopped and his frown deepened. “What is it?” Elbert asked.

Brandon could see his sister’s initials well, off in the corner of one of the petals, where they had always been. But other things had been added. There were words there, engraved, in Valyrian glyphs and a date. Near two years since it had been dated.

But what made Brandon’s heart pound violently in his chest then sink down to his feet, were the head of a snarling direwolf and the head of a dragon, their noses touching as though they were kissing.

 _It can’t be,_ he told himself. _No, it can’t be. Lyanna would never . . ._

He turned and turned the pendant between his fingers. He ran a thumb over the words, but his gaze kept going to the wolf and the dragon.

Suddenly, the rumors his friends had reported unsettled him. Everything had seemed so far fetched and idle talk, yet now, he wondered if they were true.

Brandon knew High Valyrian and there was a time he could read glyphs, but no longer. Lyanna was the one who had an ear for tongues. She knew the language, could read it flawlessly and speak it with ease. She had even taken to trying to learn the Old Tongue from the few words their Flint of the Mountains grandmother had once taught them.

“What is it?”

“Valyrian glyphs,” he replied.

“Why would she put Valyrian glyphs in the back of her necklace. I could see her use the runes of the First Men, but glyphs?” Ethan Glover said. The remark was innocent, but it was enough to anger Brandon.

He tried to read the words. He could make a glyph here and there, but not enough to form a word or a sentence.

“Perhaps she doesn’t wish anyone to know what’s written there,” Kyle Royce suggested. “Girls are queer when it comes to that sort of thing.”

Brandon tossed the piece to Elbert Arryn who easily caught it. “You are better at languages than me. What does it say?”

“I don’t know. Isn’t this private?” he looked down at the petal and bit down on his lower lip. “Is that . . .?”

“Yes. It is.”

Brandon now doubted Lyanna had been the one to commission the pendant at all.

“I don’t feel comfortable trying to read this,” Arryn said, but Brandon ignored him and turned to the girl whose face had grown as white as milk. “One last time. Where did you get this?” he asked again. “You will answer or I will have you hanged. And don’t think for a moment I’ll not do it.” Around them, everything had quieted down. The patrons were looking at them but Brandon did not care. Not even a little. But she did. He saw it in her eyes, how frightened she had become.

The girl swallowed thickly and Brandon watched her. “I haven’ done anything wrong. I found it, is all,” she finally said. “When the first snows started, I was out, making my way here and something happened. There was a fight somewhere, I heard the swords and afterward a woman scream. I saw ‘em leave, ride out of the woods like demons were af’er them. When I went to take a gander, there was dead men, left behind. A bloody cloak that look’d an awful lot like this one.” She pointed to Brandon’s cloak.

“What do you mean a bloody cloak?” He felt himself despair now.

“A white cloak with a grey wolf on it. It was all sodden and brown from mud and wet with blood. There was a lot of blood on it and it was torn in places and snagged in other places. T’was a wee bit after dawn, so I could see it well enough.”

What had happened to his sister? _Lyanna would not have gone down without a fight,_ he reflected. He thought he might retch from the panic and the stress he was feeling.

“Did you take the cloak?”

The girl shook her head. “No, m’lord, I didn’ wan’ no trouble with no one. I found the necklace a short way away from there and I took it. My ma is sick and I thought I could sell it for coin, but no one wan’ed it because they say it belong to a highborn. That's why I keep it. But I didn’ steal nothing, I swear by the old gods and the new. I found it and thought it was real nice and worth something.”

None of this made sense to Brandon. He had received a message from Winterfell informing him that Lyanna had been considerably delayed during her journey down from White Harbor due to the storms and to not expect her. He had felt free to leave Riverrun earlier than he had anticipated, especially after what had happened with that sot Littlefinger.

“Are you saying my sister was taken?” he asked standing abruptly. “Tell me what you know and tell me now. Did you see the riders?”

“Some o’ them was hooded. One had white hair. Long. He wasn’t wearing no cloak, just a long coat. He was riding double. The person with him was hooded. And there was another man, had red hair like fire. And it was snowing heavy, and they was riding fast. I didn’ wan’ trouble.” She was tearful by then.

“White hair? Did you see her? A girl of seven-and-ten.”

She shrugged. “Like I said, it was snowing heavy and they was moving fast. The white horse didn’ have no rider and it was movin’ slow like it was hurt.”

“A white horse? _Comet?”_ he said loudly. “Comet was hurt? Hurt how?”

She stared at him bewildered. “I don’t know. I swear, I don’t.” She began to weep then. “I wasn’ doing nothing wrong.”

“Brandon that’s enough. The girl is frightened,” Elbert finally said. He moved his hand to the pouch on his belt and pulled a dragon from it to give the girl.

“Enough? Lyanna’s party was attacked. Her cloak was wet with blood and her rose is here. You could not pry this thing from her hands if you tried. _He took her.”_

“You are jumping to the worst possible conclusion.” He turned to the girl. “Tell me, do you remember where you saw the dead men and the riders?” he asked her gently.

“No. I saw them come out o’ the woods, and I went there to see and found the dead men,” she replied wringing her hands together. “They had the look of soldiers. I got scared, so I left.”

Brandon scrubbed his face with his both his hands. _“He_ took her,” he let out a bitter chuckle. “He crowned her his queen of love and beauty at Harrenhal and he took her. The man with the red hair can only be Jon Connington and that one trails after Rhaegar like a bitch in heat.”

“You can’t be sure it’s Rhaegar,” Kyle said. “He has no reason to be in the riverlands.”

_He took her. He took her! He killed her escort and took her. The man with the white hair could only be him. Silver-blond would be indistinguishable from white in the early dawn._

“Ethan saddle my horse. I’m going to King’s Landing to get my sister back.” He watched the squire leave and turned back to the heir to the Vale who was standing.

“What you intend on doing is rash. Prince Rhaegar is not the sort of man who abducts girls. He does not take people against their will.” He looked at him for half a heartbeat. “You don’t know that she is there, Bran. You don’t know that she has been taken. You are jumping to the worst possible conclusion. That will only create problems. Lady Lyanna could be at Riverrun by now. That’s where you should be riding, to your bride-to-be.”

Brandon felt rage rise inside him, like a storm and he slammed his hands on the table. “My sister was _hurt._ She was _taken!”_ he nearly shouted. “The whore saw her bloodied cloak, she has her necklace, her horse was injured. What more proof do you need to understand what has happened? I saw the way he was looking at her at Harrenhal. He _wanted_ her. His eyes never strayed away from her.”

“Think about what it means. Look at the sigils. A wolf and a dragon. If Rhaegar is involved, then she went willingly with him. And who’s to say that he was not rescuing her from attackers.”

“Rescuing her? Maybe she threw the necklace back in his face and he did not take to it kindly,” Brandon suggested. “Maybe he hurt her when she refused to go with him.”

“You are delirious if you believe this.” He turned to the whore. “Tell me, the dead men, did you see any kind of sigils on their surcoats? Say a wolf like the one on Lord Stark’s cloak?” he asked her gently.

She shook her head. “I didn’ look.”

“How were they dressed?”

“In black, m’lord.”

“Stark guards don’t dress in black, Bran. Take a breath and think about it. Stark men dress in greys and whites. Why would your sister be traveling in the middle of the night? How does that make sense?”

 _I don’t know,_ he wanted to reply. _I don’t know._

“He is going to defile her and take what he wants,” he said. Everything was at stake. Lyanna’s betrothal to Robert Baratheon, the Stark name, the Stark honor. No one would ever go near his sister once the prince had had her and Brandon _could not_ allow that, _would not_ allow that. “What does the writing say?” he asked.

Elbert Arryn sighed and looked at the glyphs. “I think it says _‘With all of my heart and all that I am . . .’_ ” He stopped after that and Brandon watched him narrow his eyes.

“What else?”

“ _‘With all of my heart and all that I am. Rhaegar.’_ ”

“I am going to _kill him,”_ Brandon snatched the necklace from his friend’s hand and stormed out of the inn. “I am going to have his head for this.”

 _“Lya. I will see you soon,”_ the prince had said to her in his pavilion as Brandon was dragging her out.

Words swirled in his mind, like a violent storm. Rhaegar Targaryen had not wanted his betrothal to Elia Martell. Rhaegar Targaryen had spent time in King’s Landing with Lyanna and she was with him on Dragonstone nigh on a year.

Rhaegar Targaryen had danced with her at the tourney, laughed with her, talked with her, looked at her like he wanted her. Rhaegar Targaryen had crowned Lyanna his queen of love and beauty. Rhaegar Targaryen was no longer betrothed to Elia Martell.

 _Some nonsensical talk about him already being married,_ he heard Elbert say.

Words and images swirled in Brandon’s mind. And all he could hear were the words that sounded like vows and that had been inscribed behind the rose petal spoken in the voice of Rhaegar Targaryen and all he could see were Lyanna’s eyes flickering with emotions similar to the ones he had seen when the prince had put that crown of winter roses in her lap. This time, though, she did not tamp her emotions down, she had smiled at him openly.

Rhaegar Targaryen had soiled everything and everyone and Brandon would kill him for it.

As he mounted his horse, he heard Elbert Arryn’s shouts to stop, but he was in no mood to listen and in no mood to calm down. He needed his anger about him. He fought best when he was angry.


	27. 25: Spilled Tea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Truths and untruths fly about King's Landing and Jaime and Brandon have a chat.

Jaime Lannister would never forget the look in Rhaegar Targaryen’s eyes long as he lived. It had been a mix of fear and despair to find his little wife and protect her from his mad father. But those emotions had been quickly replaced by fury when he received confirmation of Pycelle’s duplicity. Jaime did not imagine things would go well for the Grand Maester once His Grace finally returned home.

He often wondered what Aerys would do to the man if he ever found out about those ravens that flew to Casterly Rock on the regular. _He would likely die screaming,_ Jaime reflected. _Pycelle is a roach in need of a good heel, but better let Rhaegar deal with him._ If he put the man to death, at least he would give him a clean death. It was more than what Pycelle deserved or could ever hope for. As to his lord father’s own fate, well, that did not bear thinking on.  

The emotions the prince had displayed had been a lot for someone who was normally so stoic. Prince Rhaegar wore a mask, kept his face devoid of emotions. He had always been a difficult man to read because of that. But then, Jaime had been standing behind the doors of the Great Hall and had overheard most of the quarrel between Aerys and his son. And when he thought the prince would remove himself from the situation as he always did in order to calm the king down, he had not, much to Jaime’s surprise.

The situation had escalated between the two men and to hear Lewyn Martell tell it later, the Kingsguard present inside the hall had feared the king would order his son’s arrest. Prince Lewyn had been the one to take the prince past Traitor’s Walk and to the squat round tower and confine him to the cells some years past for trying to rescue his lady mother from his lord father’s clutches. The Kingsguard had not been eager for a repeat of that, although he thought the king would have foregone his son’s comforts this time and had him tossed in the black cells for no other reason than that he could.

Jaime wished Prince Rhaegar had taken him with him. He too would be across the narrow sea now. He’d read the note the prince had sent for him. _Listen, watch, report back. Be careful and stay safe,_ were the words that had been written. The command had been simple enough. Jaime listened, watched, made a his full report. He did not conceal his trips down to Flea Bottom. He always made sure those closest to him knew where he was headed. If the Spider’s little birds were about, they would know too. _If you want to hide something,_ his sister had once told him, _then hide it in plain sight_. Jaime had taken those words to heart and done just that. He went to taverns, gambled his coppers and silver away and when he was asked by the king what it was he had been up to, Jaime had replied that he enjoyed doing things his father disapproved of. He liked not being under Lord Tywin’s thumb. The king had smiled his ugly smile, pleased with the answer and nodded his head in agreement.

Jaime found there was a lot to be said about the things Prince Rhaegar did whenever he had gone down to Flea Bottom. If half of what he had heard about the prince’s endeavors to try and make the smallfolk’s lives a little easier was true, then he understood the love they bore him.

It was said the prince had helped orphanages with coin, had taken to speaking to various people, from the lowly whore on the Street of Silk to the ‘prentice boy on the Street of Steel and the baker on the Street of Flour and made good on his promises of cleaning parts of the town, ordering more gold cloaks patrols. He ate at inns and drank at taverns and paid what he owed. The people of King’s Landing knew their Prince and they loved him. And it seemed to Jaime that was where their loyalty resided. The dreck of the city did not care for Aerys, but Rhaegar was another matter altogether and it seemed Richard Lonmouth knew exactly who he could use and how he could use them.

Jaime may not have been fond of the man, but he figured Prince Rhaegar chose him for a reason. And he was taller than most and bigger than most and stronger than most and looked more frightening than most when he became angry.

Two weeks past, Marq Grafton had come to Flea Bottom with a bag of coin meant to pay those who were assisting. He had refused to answer most questions that were asked him. After he had left, men had begun trickling into the lower city. Jaime recognized the accents of the riverlands and the stormlands and the Vale and Dorne. They were men with the look of soldiers to them. It was ten at first, then fifteen, then twenty-five, thirty. The numbers had now swelled to a seventy.

A lot of them had integrated the City Watch and been dispatched to the seven gates. Others had taken the direction of the harbor. A handful had taken up work at the inns and taverns lining the streets. “Who are they?” he had asked ser Richard with a hushed voice one day. “The less you know of this, the better for you,” the reply had come. Maybe it was just as well that Rhaegar did not want him near this part of his plans. It was not so complicated to work out, though. Rhaegar was putting his men inside the city. They were likely men of Maidenpool and Gulltown and Griffin’s Roost and Starfall, he thought.

There would be no need to starve the city out with a siege or storm the gates when Rhaegar had people inside to open them for him if he decided to return with an army at his back.

Jaime had not missed the lack of westermen. That could only mean one thing. Prince Rhaegar had decided to forgo Tywin Lannister’s assistance in this matter. It also meant that Lord Tywin’s reach was not as long as he liked to think. Tywin Lannister had no power across the narrow sea. And he held no power of sway over the Prince of Dragonstone.

And he no longer held any kind of power over Jaime. That time was done.

Addam Marbrand had been dispatched to the city by Lord Tywin with a letter. His lord father had commanded him back to Casterly Rock at once. He knew of Prince Rhaegar’s marriage and he knew that Aerys had sent men hunting after the Lady Lyanna. Prince Rhaegar was going to be a guest and as the rightful heir to the Seven Kingdoms, Lord Tywin was going to commit gold and men to his cause. He was making ready to call the banners.

Jaime had found all his lord father’s thoughts of war disconcerting and his assumptions laughable. Tywin Lannister’s delusions and stubbornness where Prince Rhaegar was concerned had become as embarrassing as they were maddening.

Did he plan on having the prince’s wife killed to make way for Cersei? Was he planning on forcing the prince’s hand into taking a second wife? Jaime snorted at that notion. He was certain his sister would die a maiden had he not deflowered her already. Prince Rhaegar would never visit her bed, Jaime knew that without the shadow of a doubt.

“Will you write him back?” Addam had asked him as he watched the flame of the candle lick at the corner of the letter and the parchment catch fire, burn black and crumble to ash.

“I’ll not write him back,” he had replied. “Tell him my answer is no and to keep me far and away from his schemes.” Rhaegar had left Westeros with his lady and his two friends. Jaime did not know which of the Free Cities they had gone to, but he felt some sense of satisfaction knowing Lord Tywin would fall short of his goals.

He always seemed to fall short where Rhaegar Targaryen was concerned. “Your true loyalties, ser Jaime. Where do they lie?” the queen had asked him one morning in the gardens.

“With His Grace,” he told her.

“And Lord Tywin?”

He had shrugged at that. “I love my father, because he is my father,” he said, “but I am not very fond of Lord Tywin.” That was the truth. Lord Tywin had never seen his children other than to glory in what they might bring House Lannister. Cersei would marry the prince, become queen, he had stubbornly insisted and Jaime would be the Lord of Casterly Rock.

Jaime may not have understood much beyond swords and lances and horses, but he knew Lord Tywin and Lord Tywin did nothing out of the goodness of his heart. Everything was calculated and Jaime did not need nor did he want any part of his father’s schemes. Perhaps it was because he had been away from him for so long that Jaime had been able to see his father for what he had become. For all that, he was still a lion of the Rock, but the further away from Lord Tywin’s influence he was, the better it was for him and his own sanity.

He missed his sister, though. And he missed his little brother, the dwarf the gods had inflicted on Tywin Lannister to prick at his pride. Maybe it was true what they said, that Lord Tywin’s youngest child had been born a dwarf to punish the father for thinking himself more than what he was.

Tyrion was useless to their father. No lord wanted to marry his daughter to him, he would never be a knight or a warrior, nor would he become a lord in his own right. Lord Tywin would sooner swallow poison than see the Imp inherit Casterly Rock.

On the outside, the Lannisters looked like a family everyone would want to be a part of. They were as shiny as the gold that came from their mines. They were a beautiful looking apple, but one bite into it, and there was naught but rot, down to the very core. House Lannister was a mess and Jaime wanted no part of that.

“There’s talk that Prince Rhaegar kidnapped that Stark girl,” one man dressed in a green patched up cloak was saying. “I hear it coming down from Rosby. Some man-at-arms hear it from someone who was at the Peach, back at Stoney Sept.”

Jaime had Brandon Stark to thank for this one. He had ridden into the city like a raving lunatic, complicating everything. Him and the Arryn boy. If Brandon Stark had not come to King’s Landing, Jaime would have put those rumors of abduction squarely on the king and the Spider’s shoulders. He would not have put it past Aerys or the eunuch to say something so sordid to tarnish the prince’s reputation. Especially after Rhaegar had sent a letter addressed to his father blaming him for the loss of his and the Lady Lyanna’s child.

Jaime had known of that already. Richard Lonmouth had filled him in on the details of what had happened. He had told him of the sellswords Aerys had hired to have the girl assassinated, he’d told him of the arrow she’d taken, the child she had lost and the fever that had almost killed her. The tale had come from Jon Connington who had been there during the fight and later at Harrenhal.

Queen Rhaella knew all that as well. Yet it had not stopped her from storming the small council meeting while other lords had been present. Jaime had jumped where he stood, startled, when the large doors had swung open and one of them banged loudly against the wall.

She had been dressed in a black silk gown trimmed with red satin, her breast heaving and her face streaked with tears. Everyone but the king had stood when she had entered. _“You!”_ she had pointed at Aerys. “Has there ever been anyone more awful or cruel than you in this keep?” she asked him. Jaime thought the woman had gone mad to address the king in that manner.

“My queen,” Ser Gerold had whispered. Her eyes had flickered to him briefly before they landed back on her husband. “You _slew_ our grandchild and I had to hear of it from the mouth of _servants?”_

“I _did not slay_ our grandchild!” the king had yelled at her. “I did not know the wench _was_ with child.”

“The _wench_ is your son’s wife. Has been his wife for nigh on two years now. He _loves_ her. How _dare you_ try and have her killed? What does it make you?” she had yelled back.

Some of the lords had looked at each other uncomprehending, so the queen had taken it upon herself to fill them in. “Prince Rhaegar took a wife, the Lady Lyanna of House Stark. His Grace, our _benevolent king_ here, sent men to have the lady assassinated. By the grace of the gods, the lady lives, but the child she carried, your prince’s heir, was lost.” She had stared the eunuch down as she spoke. “Did you know that, my lord?”

“No, Your Grace. I did not know the prince had married. I did not know the lady was with child.”

“What use are you then, except to fill his head with filth and lies?”

“The prince’s loss grieves me, my queen.”

“I’m sure the prince’s loss has made you jubilant, my lord.”

 _“Shut_ your mouth, Rhaella.”

“No, I’ll not _shut_ my mouth. What will you do to me? Will you throw me in the cells? Will you rape me? Will you have me assassinated as you planned on doing to your good-daughter? Does it make you _proud_ that you have slain your own kin? What does that make you, pray tell?” She had been screaming at the king by then, standing right in front of him. Jaime had never seen her like that, wild and angry and so volatile. Queen Rhaella had never been anything but dutiful, poised and obedient. Lord Tywin had even gone as far as to call her a sheep.

 _Do not wake the dragon,_ Jaime thought. _This dragon could stomp the king if she wanted to,_ he realized in that moment. The queen wanted everyone in the Red Keep to hear her words. She had been sitting on this information for some weeks now, had wanted the news to spread and with Rhaegar’s letter to his father and the small council’s awareness of this news, she had seized her opportunity.

Before long all of King’s Landing would know of the prince’s marriage and would know how the king had tracked and hunted his lady wife as though she had been some animal. Everyone would know the responsibility he bore in the loss of the child.

“Your Grace,” Lord Chelsted had stood. “We all grieve for the prince’s loss.”

She had whirled on the man. “Oh, you do, do you? You. Every single one of you has poisoned his father’s mind against him. But you, my lord, you will die screaming. Best you prepare for that. Pray for the salvation of your soul and do it quickly. My dreams never lie.”

“Prince Rhaegar would never . . .”

“My son is no savage. He will never feed you to the flames. Your king, however, he will not blink an eye while your body becomes charred meat and you scream for mercy. Best pray that Rhaegar is the one who gets a hold of you. He is considerate. He would give you a swift and clean death.”

Lord Chelsted had no reply for her, had only gaped at her. Ser Gerold had stood from his chair. “My queen, let me escort you back to your chambers.”

“Rhaegar will never set foot in the Seven Kingdoms again,” Aerys had replied hotly. “Your precious son is in the Free Cities seeing to his business. Who am I to stop him if what he wants is to be the King of Spice and Cheese? His wife is with him. And so are those two faithless men who would call themselves Kingsguard. If Rhaegar and his _wife_ care so little about the loss of their child, why should I care?”

She had smiled sadly at that, the queen had. “You never cared about me,” she said, “no more than I cared about you. But you used to care about you son. Does it please you that he is half a world away? Does it please you that you are responsible for the greatest pain he will know? You and I have lost children, you  _know_ how that feels.”

“Aye, I know how that feels. Perhaps I’ll show him some compassion after he has lost seven of them.”

“He will never forgive you for what you have done. You are contemptible.”

“And you are _provoking_ me. Ser Gerold, escort the queen to her chambers,” the king had said, and to Jaime, the man had never sounded more sane than he had in that moment. Standing there, surrounded by his counselors and lords, he had pulled himself together and become the man Lord Tywin had spoken of but someone Jaime had never known. “Grand Maester, my wife is hysterical. Give her milk of the poppy or dreamwine and put her to bed.”

“I don't need dreamwine or milk of the poppy and I do not trust this man. If I don’t wake on the morrow, everyone will know how and why I died,” the queen had replied hotly. When the maester had put his hand to her elbow, she had violently disengaged from him. _“Do not_ presume to touch me, vermin. I _know_ what you have been up to.”

Queen Rhaella had been confined to her chambers after that, but Jaime heard the talk around Maegor’s Holdfast and in the stables. Whatever she had set out to do, she had done. It would not be long before some singer made a song of Prince Rhaegar riding forth to rescue his beloved lady from the clutches of his mad father, he thought.

Jaime shifted in his seat and adjusted the hood of his cloak over his head. No one was paying attention to him. No one ever paid attention to him when he was out of his whites. His brown traveler’s cloak was threadbare, the leather of his sword belt was peeling, his breeches were thin from use and he sported a two day old scruff.

Jaime leaned back against the wall and listened to the chatter.

“Watch that filthy mouth o’ yours,” the innkeep, an old harridan said, wiping her hands on her apron. “Prince Rhaegar is not such man as that. He’s no kidnapper.”

“Oh, and how would you know that, hag?” the man in the green cloak asked her. “D’you know the prince personally? The lady’s brother rode here to get his sister back before he got arrested by them gold cloaks. He swore up and down the prince stole his sister.”

The innkeep smirked at that. “The lady’s brother doesn’t know what he talk about. His Grace use to come ‘ere once a week or once in a fortnight and sit there,” she pointed at a table by the window, “Him and that Sword o’ the Morning and t’other White Sword, t’one with the nine black bats brooch he use to hold his cloak together. His Grace always had the duck with ale and he always insisted on paying his way, unlike some o’ t’other highborns who come ‘ere and tell me they’re the son of this lord or that lord, trying to get out from paying for their food and drink. The girl too, the little she-wolf. She come with him often. She always get my spiced lamb with the garlic and tarragon sauce. They eat and then leave. Prince Rhaegar stopped coming when his father forbid him come down to Flea Bottom anymore. A gold cloak tell me that His Grace didn’ like it so much that we love Prince Rhaegar like that. I’d never believe this talk o’ him taking the girl like that. Never.”

Jaime looked at Richard Lonmouth out of the corner of his eye. He was busy polishing off the chicken bone and looked so unconcerned with this talk, it disconcerted him. The man glanced back at Jaime, shrugged and raised his horn in the air for a refill of ale.

“Prince Rhaegar is a man. And men will rape women that don’t want ‘em,” the man in the green cloak was insisting.

“Prince Rhaegar is no raper. I’ll never believe that,” the innkeep countered. “I’m sure he love the girl and the girl love him. He went away from King’s Landing after His Grace sell him to the Dornish.” She turned her head and spat. “He sell his son to the Dornish just like Daeron sell his sweet little sister to them. He could have betro' him to the she-wolf or even that Lannister girl.”

“The Lannisters,” snorted another man. “The Lannisters are no good. That Lord Tywin is _mean_ to the bone. What he done to those poor Tarbecks and Reynes. He even killed the little babes. One of them children was thrown down the well by one of his mad dogs. Little ones who’d done him no harm. Think our Dragon Prince want to marry the daughter of a man whose hands are drippin' with blood like that? Nah, nah, nah.”

Jaime sighed inwardly at that. He did not care for what had befallen the adults, but the children, that had been ill done by his father, he always thought.

“The Starks worship trees,” a whore piped up. “Why would Prince Rhaegar marry someone who kneel in front of a tree?”

“Them are the _old gods,_ foolish girl. The old gods were here before the Seven,” the innkeep replied. “Them Starks were here way before the Seven come to Westeros.”

“Righ’,” the whore replied. “How d’you even know the prince love the girl anyway? Did’e whisper it in your ear whilst you were wiping down his table?” She laughed as though she had told some clever jape.

The innkeep huffed. “I got eyes, don’ I? I see the way he look at the girl, the way he smile at the girl. He took her hand and kissed it once while they sit there, waiting. Didn’ let go of it neither.”

“Maybe they was just fucking,” the man in the green cloak said. “Princes and kings always have mistresses, like that Unworthy.”

Jaime’s head began to pound. “Prince Rhaegar isn’ like that,” the innkeep protested.

“And _how_ d'you know that? Did he tell ya? You’re a bloody fool, woman. Prince Rhaegar might be handsome like the knights in the songs, doesn’t mean he’s not a kidnapper or a raper. Men are all beasts inside. And he’s a dragon.”

“Who’s the bloody fool now?” the inkeep asked. “He’s a dragon alright, but not the mean kind o’ dragon.”

“The fool woman is more right than you are,” a man who had been at the counter said. “I have it from someone who works up there, on Aegon’s High Hill, he does. The she-wolf was the mystery knight at Harrenhal.”

“Stop with your lies,” the old harridan said. “The girl is a proper lady.”  

“Proper lady, or not, the king found out and hired sellswords to do her in. He didn’t know she and Prince Rhaegar was married.”

Jaime heard the gasps and then the whispers. “Prince Rhaegar ain’t married!” someone scoffed. “If he’d been married, we would have heard the bells toll at the Great Sept. Prince Rhaegar would’ve made sure to feed all of Flea Bottom for his wedding.”

“He is married,” the man at the counter insisted. “It happen before Lord Denys and that slut wife of his took the king prisoner at Duskendale.”

The man in the green cloak was not having it. “Prince Rhaegar had a secret marriage? I’ll not believe it. Why would he keep it from the king?”

“King said yes to him marrying the girl, so Prince Rhaegar marry her. King was supposed to invite Lord Stark about the dowry. King got taken, came out from Duskendale not hisself. Changed his mind.” The man shrugged and took a swallow from his tankard.

The innkeep was shaking her head, the man in the green cloak was looking down at his plate. Some voices got louder. “He should’ve let him marry her. Lady Lyanna ain’t nothing like that Lady Jenny, Prince Duncan’s wife. He was a good man and a good prince too,” she said wistfully.

“When Prince Rhaegar found out the king sent men after the lady, they had a real big fight, yelled at each other real loud. He told him then, that the girl was his wife. The prince left with his men to find her before the hirelings could get her.”

“Gods be good,” the innkeep put her hand to her mouth. “She’s a good girl. She use to help around the orphanage with coin and brought a maester to see to the little ones cuts and bruises.”

“Stop interrupting the man, you damned woman. Did he find her?”

“He did. But the lady was hurt pretty bad. She bled the babe she was growing in her belly. The prince’s own heir.”

Everything had gone quiet then. The patrons had stopped talking, stopped eating, stopped drinking. They looked at each other and it seemed to Jaime there was anger in many of those eyes. “Where’s the prince now?” someone finally asked.

The man at the counter shrugged. “Across the narrow sea with his lady wife. She near died, I been told.”

“I hear the same thing,” another man said. “Girl took an arrow in the belly. Killed the babe right off. Prince Rhaegar carried her hisself in his arms to some holdfast while she was bleeding. It was snowing too and all. They had to cut her belly open to get the arrow out and the babe. Midwife says the lady was about five turns along. A little princess, it was. She says the prince sit by the lady’s sickbed day and night. When he crowned her queen of love and beauty at Harrenhal it wasn’t just because he loved the girl and she was his wife, it was also because he’d just been told he was going to be a da, he tell the woman. The lady really love them winter roses. He chose the flowers special for her.”

The innkeep began to weep softly at that. “There will be other babes, I’m sure.”

Jaime had heard enough. He paid for his meal and stood from the bench. Richard Lonmouth followed him a few minutes later. “How much did you pay them?”

“Not the faintest idea who those two are, but Seven blessings to them, their wives and children.”

“That was some embellishment from that last man.”

“Half a truth. Rhaegar gave her the crown because she competed valiantly in the lists and because she’s his wife and he loves her. You didn’t see her in the horse race and when she jousted."

 _I would have seen all that,_ Jaime thought, _had Aerys not seen fit to send me away for spite._

"In any case, what matters is that by evening tide, all of Flea Bottom will know of it. It won’t be long before the news reaches every ship docked in the harbor. The story will grow and grown, the women from the Street of Silk and up and down the kingsroad will be weeping for the prince, his wife and their little one. The singers will make songs and when Rhaegar comes back, people will flock to him. No one wants to be ruled by a king who is cruel to his children." He paused, and then, "Those people in there are our birds. Thirty ravens.”

“Thirty _angry_ ravens,” Jaime retorted.

He knew well enough how these things worked. Tales spread as quick as wildfire. The story would grow and grow and grow. “So long as everyone knows Rhaegar is married to Lady Lyanna, that the king tried to have her killed and that she miscarried the child, whatever else they tack onto the story doesn’t matter,” ser Richard was saying. “What news of the Hill,” the man asked him.

“The lady has been confined to her quarters. He took the boy from her as punishment for her outburst. She’s not allowed to see him.” Jaime felt sorry for that. The queen had been anguished at the thought of not seeing her youngest son. She had cried to hear him cry out for her. Prince Viserys had thrown tantrum after tantrum for being separated from his mother. He had thrown the full chamber pot at his septa and had broken Pycelle’s nose when he kicked him in the face for trying to restrain him.

“Lord Stark has been summoned to the Red Keep to ransom his wayward son,” he continued as they walked to the docks. _The Winter Maid_ was moored there. The week before it had been _Dragon’s Bride_ and before that _White Wind's Child_  and _Laughing Tree_ and _The Bard and the Rose_ and _Born in Fire_ and _Radiant Smile_ and _Bold Lady._ _Winter Maid_  would be leaving on the evening tide.

“Have you spoken to Brandon yet?” Richard asked him as they stopped by the ships.

“No.” Jaime shook his head slowly. “I should be able to when I get back. And Arryn?”

“In the crate.”

Jaime startled at that and looked at the many crates that were waiting to be taken below the deck of Rhaegar’s ship. “You put him in a _crate?”_ he whispered. “Have you gone mad?”

Richard Lonmouth shrugged at that. “The captain will let him out once the ship has sailed past Sharp Point. A day of discomfort is nothing to save his neck,” he said. “I didn’t knock him out, nor did I force him into the box. I could have done that, but I didn’t. I gave him the choice. But it's the long road for him. The ship will visit many a harbor before it reaches its destination.”

Jaime sighed and hoped Prince Rhaegar's faith was not misplaced. “Besides, he will be safer away from Westeros. I am giving his uncle deniability.”

“Have you been learning big words?” Jaime asked.

“Maybe I’ll thump you into the ground, see how you like my big fists.”

Jaime ignored that. It would come to swords between them if he let his anger get the best of him. Richard Lonmouth may best him in a fist fight, but Jaime would tear him to shreds in a sword fight. “You’re not going to write his uncle to let him know?”

Ser Richard shook his head. “No. I won’t.”

“This will end badly.”

“I know Elbert well. What matters is that Jon Arryn’s _heir_ is out of harm’s way. Aerys may be in a forgiving mood in the morning and in a murderous rage later that same morning. The heir of one Great House in the cells is already headache enough. His Grace can talk about ransoming his hostage, but who knows with him. Besides, Elbert knows where he is going.”

Back at White Sword Tower, Jaime changed into his whites and headed out to the cells. Brandon Stark was being held on the second floor of the tower as befit his birth and station. He had been lucky for that much at least, Jaime reflected. Lord Brandon had drawn his sword and shouted for Prince Rhaegar to come out and die. It had been only by chance that Elbert Arryn had been intercepted by Richard Lonmouth before he had crossed the gate.

Jaime had been one of the two Kingsguard with Aerys when they heard the shouting in the yard. He had been furious, the king. He had send Jon Darry and men-at-arms to make the arrest. Rhaegar may not have been the king’s favorite person, but threaten his son with death and Aerys had become another man, almost protective of his heir, as though there were some lingering feelings of love there. Jaime never truly knew how to react to the man. Aerys swung wildly from joy to rage and everything in between. He could run the gamut of emotions within minutes, leaving everyone in his vicinity exhausted and wary.

The last thing Jaime had expected when Darry had come back was to see Lord Stark’s eldest son down on his knees before the Iron Throne. The king had not asked him a single question. He had ordered that he be taken to the cells and confined there. After that he had called for Pycelle and had him send summons to Winterfell.

The journey from the north was a long one. It could take Lord Stark anywhere between a fortnight and a moon’s turn to arrive to the capital. And that was if he was still at Winterfell when the letter reached him. He could well have been heading south for his son’s wedding, in which case, he would know nothing of what had happened.

“How are you they treating you?” Jaime asked once the door was closed behind him. The cell seemed comfortable enough, and Brandon Stark was lying on a small bed, one arm thrown over his face. There was untouched food on the table, but the wine had been drunk.

“What concern is it of yours?” Brandon asked. “Are you here to do Prince Rhaegar’s bidding? That one really has milk running through his veins, doesn’t he?” he threw his legs over the side of the bed and leaned back against the wall, looked Jaime over with some measure of contempt. _“Curdled_ milk. You can tell him I said that. You can also tell him that I will gut him like a trout when I see him. I can meet him in the yard, let my sword do the talking for me.”

“The walls have ears here. You never know who might be listening,” Jaime replied, though he was certain no one could hear even if they tried. The walls and the doors were too thick for that. “If I were you, I would weigh my next words very carefully. Prince Rhaegar is not in King’s Landing.” Jaime sat on the small bench by the table. “He has not been here in weeks.”

“He is not in King’s Landing, he is not on Dragonstone. Where is he, then?”

“Should have asked that question before you came charging in like some kind of aurochs. Why are you here? Aren’t you supposed to be getting married soon?”

“My marriage is not your concern. The prince took my sister.”

Jaime understood that impulse all too well. Brandon Stark and Jaime Lannister were cut from the same cloth of rashness and anger. Both were headstrong and he imagined that much like him Brandon Stark never felt truly alive than when he was fighting or fucking. But Aerys was mad and what Brandon Stark had done was rank madness and threatened all the plans that were being made.

“I understand why you did what you did,” Jaime told him. “I am certain I would have done the same had I heard that my sister had been taken against her will. I would have killed and asked questions later. You ought to know, though, Prince Rhaegar didn’t kidnap your sister. He saved her. I was standing at the door of the Great Hall when the king threatened her life.”

“And why would the king threaten her life, pray tell? What has she done to him?”

Jaime sighed. “To him? Absolutely nothing. But she dressed as the mystery knight at Harrenhal which displeased His Grace greatly. Frankly, everything was a bit of a mess that day. Doran Martell broke off the betrothal of his sister to the prince which made the king wroth and I think he was just looking to take what his son loved most away from him to punish him. The king has known for years how Rhaegar felt because he’d told him. Ser Gerold said the prince and the king were in agreement that when His Grace returned from Duskendale, he would enter in contact with your lord father and begin marriage negotiations.”

“I see.”

Jaime shrugged. “Rhaegar went as far as to confess the truth of his marriage to your sister. It would not sway the king. As far as I understand it, it was all a very close call for the Lady Lyanna. She and Prince Rhaegar did suffer the loss of their child, however.”

Brandon Stark said nothing to that. He crossed his arms over his chest and closed his eyes. “My father shouldn’t have sent her from Winterfell. He should have brought her back after he found out she had taken off for Summerhall on her own. Can you imagine that? A girl of barely four-and-ten, borrowing a horse and riding in the dead of the night with only the stars to guide her to some castle that had been gutted by wildfire years before because of some dream she had? What lady does that?”

Jaime snorted at the question. “Your sister, apparently,” he replied.

“Did the king know of her condition?” Brandon asked him.

“No.” Jaime thought back on the letter Rhaegar had sent the king. “He didn’t know. I don’t know if it would have stayed his hand, but he didn’t know. It was a shock for all finding out what happened.”

He seemed to think on that for a short moment. “She was always far too much like me. I have been such a dreadful influence on her.”

“That may be, but Lady Lyanna strikes me as someone who knows her own mind. Did you know that was when she met the prince? When she went to Summerhall?” Jaime asked him.

Brandon shook his head. “No. It seems my sister has kept her fair share of secrets. There was a time she could never keep a single secret. She could never tell lies. You could always count on Lyanna to spill everything. I think she learned to keep secrets and tell lies after my father forbade her the practice yard. She had to hide to do something she enjoyed. It was usually in the depths of the godswood with my youngest brother, who _always_ kept her secrets. If anyone knew of any of this, it would be him.”

“We all learn to lie and keep secrets along the way. She is across the narrow sea with Prince Rhaegar. As far as I know, she is recovered from her ordeal.”

“Good. That’s good,” Brandon Stark replied in a subdued voice. “I could not bear to lose her too. My lord father will be so angry when he finds all this out. He might do His Grace’s job for him and rake me over the coals. He has always had very little patience with my antics. I can’t imagine any of this will go over well. And when he finds out that Lyanna has married, he may well drop dead from shock.”

“A lot of lords would be pleased with this development,” Jaime said thinking of his own father and the careful plans he had laid out over the years to ensure that Cersei married the prince.

Brandon rolled his eyes at him. “My father may have been pleased had the prince gone to him. My father may have been pleased had he not already given Lya away to Robert Baratheon. I could not understand why she was so _resistant_ to her betrothal to Lord Robert until Prince Rhaegar put that crown of flowers in her lap,” Brandon was saying. “I saw something in her eyes. Lyanna always wore her emotions on her sleeve. She could never hide her feelings and she struggled to hide what she was feeling in that moment. I knew exactly what I saw in those eyes of hers. I knew and I refused to acknowledge it. When I look at my sister, all I see is the little girl she was, skinny as a stick, scraped knees and hands, cheeks smeared with dirt, screaming at the top of her lungs because she wanted breeches instead of dresses, wanted a sword instead of a doll. It made my lady mother laugh and drove my lord father absolutely mad.”

Jaime said nothing. He thought of his own sister. How was it that two girls who had wanted the same things could grow up to be so different? “Prince Rhaegar loves your sister because of who she is. She doesn’t pretend to be anything she isn’t. And neither does he. He loves her, I know as much. They make each other happy, I know that as well.”

“Is Elbert alright?”

Jaime looked at the window and at the fading sun. “He is gone from King’s Landing.”

“Good. That’s good. I wouldn’t want him to be caught in the middle of this.” He looked behind Jaime. “What do you think those marks on the wall are?” he asked.

Jaime turned his head and looked over his shoulder, vertical marks, he saw. “The last person who bedded in this cell was Prince Rhaegar,” he said, “it may be that he was counting the number of days he was imprisoned here by his father for trying to defend his lady mother.”

“How long will I be here?”

“As long as His Grace wishes for you to be here,” Jaime replied. “Count the marks, and add to them.”

As he stood to take his leave, Brandon Stark spoke. “Ser Jaime, why did you tell me all this?” he asked.

“For some peace of mind. Ser Gerold thought you should know your sister is alive and well. If nothing else, knowing this might help you see Prince Rhaegar in a different light. Maybe you’ll not hate him anymore.”

“Oh, yes. You’re absolutely right. I am _brimming_ with love for our lying Silver Prince. And I’m the one who gets grief for my actions.”

“You’re a bloody fool, my lord,” Jaime said.

“And you’re an even bigger one for putting your trust in a man who has run time and again from his duty, who sailed to safety across the narrow sea.”

“For your sister’s sake. Don’t forget that,” he reminded him.

“Aye, for my sister's sake. Should I be thanking him? He’s the one who endangered her life to begin with,” the reply came quickly.

Jaime stared at him briefly. This was leading nowhere, he realized. “Believe what you will. Prince Rhaegar made mistakes, but none as big as dressing as a mystery knight and parading in front of a king whose wits have fled him. That one was all your sister.”


	28. 26: Poisoned Mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ned questions some of his decisions

It was the way Robert had stormed into Ned’s rooms, howling and threatening to kill Rhaegar Targaryen and Marq Grafton and Myles Mooton and a number of other notable people that made Ned question the sanity of his decision and wonder why he ever thought the idea of his sister's betrothal to Robert Baratheon was a good one.

 _“You don’t understand,”_ Lyanna had said to him when Ned took her aside upon their arrival at Maidenpool after the tourney at Harrenhal was finally over. She had looked at the Manderly ship with so much distress and anguish, Ned could not let her go without speaking to her. It would be a handful of months before he saw her again and he did not judge their brother’s wedding was the proper venue for them to have a conversation that needed to be had sooner rather than later.  

“Then _tell_ me, Lya. Whatever it is, you can tell me.” He already knew, though. He had seen her in the godswood on the morning of the final jousts at the tourney before the break of dawn. She had been sitting there, by the stream and when Ned thought of joining her, the prince had arrived. He had sat beside her and kissed the side of her head and Lyanna had leaned into him. It had been no longer than a minute before she had leaned away, but Ned had already seen enough to know that there was much and more going on between his sister and the prince. There was nothing innocent about their behavior, and that they did not seem to care who saw them had soured his stomach. If he had seen them, then how many other people had seen them as well?

He had always thought Prince Rhaegar a reasonable man. He had been sorely mistaken. Instead, he found out Prince Rhaegar was as single-minded as they came.

Ned had scarce slept since he had spoken to Rhaegar Targaryen in his pavilion, and he had scarce slept since seeing them together in the godswood and he had scarce slept since that crown of winter roses had been placed upon his sister’s lap.

And when he finally closed his eyes and sleep managed to find him at last, he was plagued with nightmares. In them, his fingers always reached for the crown of roses in a bid to take it from his sister and erase what had happened. But every time he tried, the thorns that lay hidden pricked him and his hand would bleed and bleed and bleed, so much so that he would be left standing in a puddle of his own blood. And sometimes, the thorns turned into dragons that spit fire at him. Whatever his nightmare was, it always ended in the same way, with Prince Rhaegar taking Lyanna away. For good and all.

 _How can seconds feel like an eternity,_ Ned had wondered while he looked at his sister and waited for her to say something. She had looked down at the ground, her hands twisting together, her fingers tugging at the Myrish lace on one of her sleeves. It made him anxious to see her so anxious and the ball of dread in his belly grew exponentially after that. He had put a hand to hers. “Stop,” he said. “ Just stop, please.”

“I know you went to Rhaegar’s pavilion,” she glanced up at him through her long thick eyelashes.

“I see.” Part of him had not been surprised that his sister knew of this. If she and the prince were as close as Ned suspected they were, then he would not have kept it from her.

She had narrowed her eyes at him when he said that. “ _‘I see?’_ Is that all that you have to say to me? I understand what you were trying to do, but you shouldn’t have gone to him without speaking to me first.”

“I did speak to you. I asked you if you had made you choice" he told her. "Or do you not remember that? You stonewalled me, then left the hall with him, Lyanna. I was only trying to protect your honor.”

She shook her head slowly. “My honor doesn’t need protecting. Not from him. _Never_ from him. He has never been anything but respectful and good to me. Since I have known him. But your friend who swears he loves me has no qualms trying to sample what he believes will be his.”

“And he should not have done that. Has he not apologized for his behavior?” Ned had told Robert he should get on his knees and beg his sister’s forgiveness for what he had tried to do. He had looked shamed and cowed enough that Ned thought he would apologize without having to be further prompted.

“An apology would not have changed a single thing, Brother.” She looked at him and hesitated for half a heartbeat before she spoke again. “It is Rhaegar I love,” she said with a quiet voice. “I just love him. But I think you already knew that.”

Lyanna had made a lot of confessions in her young life. She had confessed to breaking things and hiding them afterward. She had confessed to disobeying commands given her. She had confessed to mischief she had caused. She usually did it with a small voice and her eyes cast down. For this confession, however, she had looked him in the eye and spoke with a confident voice. But to Ned, she had never looked more small or more vulnerable than she did in that moment.

In that moment, his sister had laid her heart bare before him. It broke something inside him, tore his own heart to pieces. “Lyanna,” he said her name, yet he could not voice the other things he wanted to say to her.  _Why couldn’t you love the man you are going to marry,_ he’d wanted to ask her.  _Why the prince? Why, Lyanna? Why? Why choose something impossible? Why break your own heart like this? You are promised elsewhere, just as your prince is._

But her eyes were filled with grief and bright with unshed tears and he did not want to add to her pain or see her cry. He could never bear to see her cry. He could offer her no comfort nor could he tell her that all would be well. It would have been a lie.

“Life is not a song, little sister. You _know_ this.” She had turned her head away from him as he spoke those words. “I think it will be good for you,” he said, “to be back at Winterfell for a bit before Brandon’s wedding. It will put distance between you and . . . and him. Perhaps it will change whatever these feelings are that you have for him.”

“Whatever these _feelings_ are?” she asked him with a note of disappointment in her voice. “You asked me a question and I gave you an answer. Yet you trivialize my words. You make them sound so hollow. So _meaningless._ Why? I want to understand why that is.”

Ned lifted his hands in the air. “I am sorry. I did not mean to belittle your feelings,” he replied. “And whatever you feel for him is not meaningless. But, Lya, you have to appreciate how complicated you have made your life. You must put your feelings for him aside. Robert will be your lord and husband.”

“Robert will _never_ be my lord and husband.”

“Lya . . .”

“Look at me, Ned. Look at _me,”_ she commanded him. “I am no longer a child. I am nigh on seventeen years. Surely you understand that you cannot always look at me and see that wild little girl you used to read stories to. Those memories are sweet and I cherish them as I know you do, but you can make other memories with me, as I am _now.”_

Ned stared at her. His sister had not been little in a long while now. It was not lost on him. Perhaps he shouldn’t have been in denial over it as Brandon and his lord father had been. Ned recalled his last stay at Winterfell, the talk he and his sister had after she found out their father had accepted Robert’s marriage proposal on her behalf.

“I know my own heart and I know what that kind of love feels like and I know what its absence . . . what _Rhaegar’s_ absence feels like. I know that I’m not whole without him. There is this hole inside my chest when he and I are apart. It _aches._ This love, it is not one-sided. It never was.” She sighed heavily and began tugging at her sleeve again. “Rhaegar and I, it wasn’t love at first sight or at second sight. It happened over a period of time. When the tourney at Lannisport came around, it was well and truly done. And he feels as strongly about me as I feel about him.” She smiled sadly. “All the stars will burn out in the sky and what we feel for each other will still remain. I’ll not stop loving him on anyone’s saying so and he’ll not stop loving me.”

Ned had not needed her to tell him anything after all. He had seen her with him in the Great Hall. And he had seen them in the godswood. And he had seen the look on her face when that crown of blue roses had been laid upon her lap. He had seen the prince on the battlements of Harrenhal looking down at their party, looking down at _her,_ as they departed.

Ned did not believe for a single instant that their lord father would have the patience to deal with her or any of this. Lord Rickard would carry her over his shoulder to her marriage kicking and screaming if he must. Part of him felt sad for his sister.

“Do you remember when Mother was still alive,” she suddenly asked him.

The question surprised him a little and he had gazed at her, frowning. They so very rarely spoke of their mother anymore. He wondered what this was leading to. “You know I do.”

“You and Brandon had her longer than I did and I had her a little while longer than Ben did. I don’t remember much of her anymore,” she confessed. “But I do remember how much she loved us and I do remember her telling me she wanted me to have not just an understanding husband, but a husband who understood me because there is a difference between the two. Do you know what else I remember?”

“No. What’s that?”

“I remember when she used to seat us beneath the heart tree, all four of us, and tell us those stories of the Starks of old.” She glanced up at him and Ned nodded at her. “She used to say that the reason the Starks managed to survive so long was not because of the power they wielded. They managed to survive so long because they always stuck together. When the snows fall and the white winds blow . . .” Lyanna started.

“The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives,” Ned finished, finding himself transported back in time. He did not remember much of his mother either, but in that moment, he could see her as plainly as he saw his sister and he could hear her voice as plainly as he heard his sister’s. He never realized how much Lyanna looked like her or sounded like her.

“Have we lost each other?” she asked him. “Us. You and me. Have we lost one another? Are we lone wolves now? I could not bear it if you and I were no longer close.”

“We will always be a pack, no matter our disagreements. I am sorry you’re hurting.”

She'd seemed to think on that and looked as though she wanted to say more to him before she reconsidered. She had embraced him instead. “You should speak with Brandon. I know he feels badly for the things he has said and did,” he told her.

“Brandon crossed the line.” Her reply had been swift and unyielding.

“He did. But so did you. There are things he should not have done at the tourney. He should have been better, he knows as much. I think you sell him short sometimes, though. I think he will be more understanding than you think.”

She had considered him for a moment. “He’ll not understand this. For all his faults, he believes strongly in duty. This is the one thing that Father has managed to instill in him. He would have left Westeros long ago if he didn’t feel himself bound by duty to Winterfell and the north. You were not there when we were traveling to Harrenhal.”

“He told me of the conversation you two had. The two of you were always so close, Lyanna. What happened to that?”

“I don’t know.” She wiped a lone tear angrily.

“Try him. He may surprise you yet.” She’d said nothing to that, so he took his chance. “And Robert may surprise you as well if you gave him half a chance to prove himself. He can be worthy of you.”

Her face had hardened and he could see her heart harden too. _She really can’t stand him,_ he realized. He could not recall for the life of him Lyanna ever being this hostile to Robert. She had gotten along with him fine. _Or perhaps she was only being courteous,_ he reflected.

“Well at least you didn’t insinuate that I was the one who must be worthy of him. At least you did not imply that I am lucky that he chose me and that I am lucky to be saddled to him for all my days. _I don’t like him.”_

She had turned away from him and rode down the hill.

Ned had replayed this over and over in his head. He did not doubt for a moment that his sister would give in so easily. But done was done. Yet now with this news that had come from Gulltown some weeks ago, Ned had wondered how much harder everything was going to become.

It was said that Prince Rhaegar’s betrothal to the Dornish princess, Elia Martell, was now a thing of the past, broken and done with. And there had been more. Prince Rhaegar and the king had quarreled and when Aerys bid his son go to Dorne to smooth things over, the prince had refused him and left King’s Landing for his seat on Dragonstone.

When no letters had come from the Red Keep confirming the information, Jon Arryn had sent a message to Gulltown. Ser Marq Grafton was a friend of Prince Rhaegar’s and one of the few men he trusted implicitly. The knight oversaw accounts, ships and storehouses on his prince’s behalf. _If anyone knows, Ser Marq will,_ Jon Arryn had reasoned. _If Prince Rhaegar wants the realm to know of this, then his men will not need much prompting._ The reply had come from his brother, however, Ser Gerold. Ser Marq was in the north about the prince’s business and he did not know when he would return home.

Ned was in no rush to find out, nor did he require any sort of confirmation. He did not doubt for a single instant that what they had heard was true.

And it did not seem Robert was in need of confirmation either. His friend had been different since Harrenhal. Ned had lingered at Runestone for a moon’s turn and returned to the Eyrie to a man filled with anger and resentment, who had taken to lashing out at servants and pages and anyone who had the misfortune of being in his vicinity when his wroth came over him. Ned had asked him what the issue was and Robert had only shrugged at him.

“He wants Lyanna,” Robert had said after he heard of the broken betrothal.

“What does it matter what he wants?” Ned asked. “Lyanna is betrothed to you, is she not?”

Robert had given him a queer look. “Aye, she is, but no oaths were sworn,” he said.

What was Ned supposed to tell him after that, he wondered. _Yes, there is more than a chance that Prince Rhaegar will make a bid for my sister’s hand because he loves her and she loves him? But in the end, does it even matter? My lord father gave Robert his word. It may not be an oath, but it’s almost the same._

“You will see my lord father at Riverrun for Brandon’s wedding. I am sure he will give you his reassurances. And you may even be able to settle on a date. Did you discuss the dowry with him yet?” Robert had said nothing. He had just stood and left.

“What is the matter with him?” Jon Arryn asked. “I understand his upset over what happened at Harrenhal, but Robert was never one to hold grudges or hate someone as vehemently as he hates Prince Rhaegar.”

Ned could only shrug at that. He wondered if Marq Grafton had gone north to meet Lord Manderly about Prince Rhaegar’s shipping business. The prince had no foothold in the north as yet. It would make sense for him to start inquiring. His ships would bring in revenue that both White Harbor and Winterfell would welcome.

_But what if Marq Grafton had ridden to Winterfell instead to bring Prince Rhaegar’s proposal for Lyanna? What if Prince Rhaegar could not leave King’s Landing or Dragonstone to do so himself and had sent one of his men in his stead?_

Lord Rickard would be down from Winterfell soon, Ned knew. It would be so easy for the prince to meet with him before Brandon’s wedding and try and convince him to give Lyanna away to him instead of Robert. And if Prince Rhaegar had sent Marq Grafton to Winterfell to lay the groundwork, then he had no desire for his raven to be lost or fall between the wrong hands.

 _Perhaps that’s what Robert fears,_ Ned thought. Robert’s general attitude since Harrenhal had been bordering on rotten. Jon Arryn’s court had come down from the Eyrie to winter at the Gates of the Moon, which allowed Robert more freedom of movement and Ned had heard things he had not liked. He had been consistently visiting some miller’s daughter in one of the nearer holdfasts.

Ned did not know what to make of it. For all his claims that he loved his sister, Robert’s behavior went contrary to the words he spoke. It disquieted Ned more than he could say or cared to admit. He was certain Robert would have curbed himself by now, that the betrothal to Lyanna was a new chapter in his life. It wasn't, though. Far from it. Instead, it was more of the same with him and his behavior at Harrenhal had been near abysmal.

Robert trained in the yard, drank and fucked his way through his days.

He remembered what Lyanna had said to him while they danced at Harrenhal. _Robert is not interested if he can’t fuck it, fight it, or drink it._ That was what she had said to him. How right had she been. It seemed to Ned that his sister had a much better understanding, a better grasp of the man Robert was after all. Will Robert ever change, he wondered. He felt this was another question he already had the answer to.

 _Love is sweet, dearest Ned, but it does not change a man’s nature,_ she had told him on the night she had returned to Winterfell, after their lord father had given her the news of her betrothal. She had the right of it. Truly. Lyanna may have been younger than him, but she had seen right through Robert’s smiles and looks and charisma. Ned had been a boy of eight name days when he came to live at the Eyrie. Robert had become as close to him as his brothers. Even closer. Had his love for him blinded him so much to his most glaring faults? Perhaps he had just accept those faults long ago and no longer took them into account.

Ned had dwelled on Prince Rhaegar’s broken betrothal for weeks. Then Marq Grafton had come calling at the Gates of the Moon. In Jon Arryn’s solar, he had confirmed what Ned had already known. “As I understand it,” he had told him and Lord Jon, “Prince Doran is the one who put an end to the whole affair. It was going to be him who did it, or Prince Rhaegar.”

“Is it true the king and the prince had a row over this?”

“I cannot speak to that, my lord as I was not present,” he had simply replied. “Rhaegar and King Aerys have not gotten along over a multitude of things since the unfortunate events at Duskendale.” He gave Lord Jon documents to sign. “They never saw eye to eye with regard to his betrothal. But the prince’s feelings on the matter were the worst kept secret in Westeros.”

“We were told you traveled north,” Ned said.

The knight nodded. “The prince is looking to build glass gardens, so he sent me to Winterfell to take a look at them and speak to Lord Rickard. Prince Rhaegar has been looking for solutions to carry the realm through the long winters. If we are to begin importing glass, we must needs begin purchasing the panels soon and hire men from Essos to apprentice our workers here. He wants to start on Dragonstone before taking this to King’s Landing. He will have to sell His Grace on the idea.”

 _Glass gardens?_ That surprised Ned. In winter, the glass gardens were the difference between life and death. It was clever of the prince, Ned could acknowledge as much, but he thought he saw Lyanna’s hand in this as well. “Did  you see my sister?” he asked.

Ser Marq gave Ned the queerest look he had ever seen. He looked at him as though he had suddenly sprung a second head. “I . . . I have not had the pleasure, my lord.” His reply had been a hesitant one and he frowned, but he said no more than that. After that, he discussed storehouses and ships and Prince Rhaegar’s patronage of crofters and that his quest for Valyrian steel daggers had come finally come to an end. “I will be taking the blades to King’s Landing soon. Once they are melted and reforged, Rhaegar will finally have that Valyrian sword he wanted to replace the two his family lost.”

Ned thought of Winterfell and the ancestral Valyrian sword of his family. It was time, he thought. It was high time for him to leave the Vale and strike north. It was time for him to go home to Winterfell. It was time for him to go back to his gods and his godswood. He had been away far too long.

It was time his father found him a woman to marry and it was time he settled in his own lands. The time for childhood was done and he had lingered here far too long.

He would speak to his father after Brandon was wed.

Ned glanced at the broken vase on the ground and the water trickling slowly down his wall. The red roses were strewn across his floor. He thought of Lyanna and how fond she was of flowers. He looked back at Robert and put his quill down. “What has gotten into you?” he asked him, but looking at his face, Ned knew his friend was well into his cups. He sighed.

“Marq Grafton . . . I am going to kill him,” Robert said with a quiet and threatening tone. “I am going to kill him.”

Ned frowned. “Whatever for? Need I remind you the man is Bronze Yohn’s nephew and related to half of the Vale besides?”

“At the tavern, there was talk.” He leaned over the desk and Ned could smell the stench of his breath from where he had been still sitting.

“What kind of talk?”

“Your sister, _my_ betrothed . . .”

Ned rolled his eyes at that as he had taken to doing whenever Robert spoke of Lyanna lately. _‘My betrothed this, my betrothed that.’_ He seldom called her by her name anymore. He called her his betrothed instead, as though he wanted to make certain everyone knew who Lyanna belonged to. “And what of her?”

“Down at the tavern, they say that she was kidnapped by that vapid silver cunt and his men. He took her at sword point. They found her necklace and her bloodied cloak.”

What in the world was he going on about? “How much did you have to drink? And what do you want Marq Grafton for?”

“Marq Grafton helped him.”

“Marq Grafton was at Winterfell. My sister is at Winterfell,” Ned replied. “You saw her get on the Manderly ship, same as I have. She has no reason to be in the riverlands so soon. Are you implying that she was taken from under my father’s nose just like that?” He resisted the urge to roll his eyes once more. 

“Her necklace was found in the riverlands, along with her bloodied cloak by some whore,” Robert repeated, his voice rising with anger.

“What necklace is that?” Ned asked to humor him.

“That rose, the one she was so upset over at Harrenhal. The one she almost took my hand off for, for trying to touch it.”

Ned knew that necklace well. Lyanna wore it on a leather thong often when she went riding and on a chain the rest of the time. “It’s not the first time she loses the thing,” Ned said. She’d lost it in the glass gardens once, he recalled, in the bed of winter roses of all places. She had been inconsolable when she had lost it at Harrenhal . . . until Prince Rhaegar returned it to her.

“Have you not heard a word I said,” Robert asked him with scorn. “Your sister’s necklace was found, along with her cloak, drenched with her blood.”

Did Lyanna already leave Winterfell? Was she attacked on the road? He recalled the odd look Ser Marq had given him when he asked if he had seen Lyanna. Was he privy to something Ned did not yet know? Lyanna had been friendly with Prince Rhaegar’s men. She knew them well, every last one of them. He recalled Myles Mooton getting to one knee to ask her for a dance and thought of Ser Arthur Dayne who had rescued her from Robert’s wandering hands.

Lyanna would have taken the time to show Ser Marq around Winterfell. She would have taken him riding in the wolfswood and shown him winter town.

All of this was so odd, it made Ned feel uncomfortable in his own skin. He shifted in his seat.

“If my sister had been taken, I’m sure my lord father would have written me to let me know of it. If my sister’s life was in danger, my lord father would have let me know.”

“Would he?”

“And _why_ wouldn’t he?” Ned asked him bewildered. “My father has always written me for anything of importance. When Lyanna broke her arm, her wrote me. When she rode on her own to Summerhall, he wrote me to let me know. If my sister was taken, he would let me know. If for nothing else than to separate truth from false. Why wouldn’t he write me if Lyanna had been taken by force?”

“Because it’s that thrice damned prince who took her.”

“Do you hear yourself? Why would he carry her off by force when he knows she would go with him because she trusts him? Lyanna was still half a girl when she met Rhaegar Targaryen. They are friends. Why would he seek to abduct her?”

 _“Because she is not his,”_ Robert shouted at him, slamming his open hands on the desk, making it shake. The inkwell spilled onto he letter Ned had been busy writing his youngest sibling.

“She is not yours either,” Ned picked up the inkwell and stood from his chair. “You have done absolutely _nothing_ to endear yourself to her. Do you think your gallivanting and your drinking will make her like you better? Your jealousy . . .”

“My _jealousy?_ He stole her from me before I ever had the chance.”

Ned stared at him. “My sister is not some _mule_ to be stolen.”

“Your sister will never go near King’s Landing once we are married. She will not be allowed to leave Storm’s End on her own.”

Ned could not believe his ears. One of the reasons he had taken the betrothal offer to his lord father was because he thought Lyanna would have the freedom she craved. Robert would have been an understanding husband, Ned thought. He would have been understanding of Lyanna’s passions and may have given her the leeway to do some of the things she was forbidden to do.

But then, it seemed to him that Lyanna had already found someone who not only understood her but was also understanding of her. 

He remembered Prince Rhaegar the day of the horse race during the tourney. The memory came to him unbidden. The prince had stood by the fence that separated the track from the spectators and watched Lyanna race that hellion mare of hers. He had not cheered Lyanna on, nor had he applauded her or smiled when the race was over. Instead, the prince had simply looked proud of her. It was the little crannogman Howland Reed who had put a name to what Ned had seen.  

It was so much more than what their lady mother had wished for her daughter, he realized then.

“Are you planning on making her your _wife_ or your _prisoner?_ Lyanna is not some willowy creature who will be happy sitting in some tower, combing her hair. You may want to start looking beyond the pretty face and see her for exactly who she is. You claim to love her, yet your behavior says otherwise.”

But Robert was not listening to him. “The Targaryens have grown weak. They have no dragons, no true allies. Aerys is mad and Rhaegar kidnaps and rapes maidens. If we ally, we can put them down for good and all. If the north, the stormlands, the riverlands, the Vale banded together, Lord Tywin would join us and we could get rid of the dragons once and for all.”

 _Gods be good,_ Ned thought. These ideas were not _Robert_ ideas. Had he changed so much since Harrenhal? Did Ned underestimate the hate he bore the prince? “Who is it that you have been consorting with in the taverns?” Ned asked him. “This is treason you speak of.”

“Is it?” Robert replied. “The time has come to protect the realm from the Targaryens.”

“The Targaryens built the realm,” Ned replied.

Robert snorted at that. “Doesn’t mean we have to remain loyal when things are not working.”

“The Targaryens gave us twenty years of peace and prosperity.”

 _“Tywin Lannister_ gave us twenty years of peace and prosperity.”

 _There’s that name again,_ Ned looked at Robert thoughtfully. He wondered if somehow Lord Tywin hadn’t approached Robert, tried to build on this resentment he had toward the prince. Whatever was going on with his friend, someone was pouring poison in his ear and Robert seemed to lap it up.

“The Targaryens hold themselves above the laws of gods and men alike. They are abominations born of incest. They marry their sisters and _fuck_ them, father children on them. Who do you think Prince _Rhaegar,”_ he said the name with disgust and bitterness, “would have been betrothed to Elia of Dorne if that little sister of his had she not been stillborn?”

“If you are planning treason, Robert, you would do well to keep the Stark name out of this. My lord father will not have it.”

“Won’t he?” Robert asked. “His firstborn and heir has been arrested by Mad Aerys.”

 _“Brandon?”_ Ned was taken aback by that. They were due to depart for Riverrun in a handful of days, for his brother’s wedding. “Why would Aerys have Brandon arrested?”

“Because he at least cares what happens to your sister. Unlike you. And I would have ridden to King’s Landing myself had Jon Arryn not forbidden me to go.”

Ned stared at him for half a heartbeat. “Leave me.”

“Leave you? So that you can make up more excuses for that vile arse? Why don’t you believe this?”

“Because it’s not in Prince Rhaegar to do such things as you accuse him of.” Ned raised his voice and Robert stared at him, angry. “Rhaegar doesn’t have it in him to harm anyone, let alone someone he cares about.”

“Cares about?” Robert’s nostrils flared. “Why would your brother ride to King’s Landing then? _Explain_ that to me.”

“Because he has been angry with the prince since Harrenhal and that damned crown of queen of love and beauty. This is how he is, he holds on to his anger and he will find any excuse to become angrier.”

And this was worrisome for Ned. He wondered what his brother had said to get himself arrested. Aerys’s attentions were never a good thing. Brandon had gone on some fool’s errand. Provoking a king who was clearly unstable was the equivalent of sticking one’s finger in a wasps’s nest.

“Ned,” a voice came from behind the door, along with a soft knock. Ned looked at Robert one last time before he went to open. Jon Arryn was standing on the other side with a message in hand, bearing the direwolf of Stark on white sealing wax. “From Winterfell.”

He looked at his foster father. "You are aware of his foolishness?" he asked him, pointing his chin at Robert as he took the letter and broke the seal. Jon Arryn nodded at him. 

 

Ned unrolled the letter and read the words. _“Lord Rickard has been summoned to retrieve Brandon from the Red Keep. Whatever rumors you may hear about your sister, rest assured that she is well and as safe as one can be. Please remain in the Vale until such time as your lord father contacts you.”_

The note was written by the hand of Maester Walys. Ned gave it to Jon Arryn to read. “Lyanna is fine,” Ned told Robert who was helping himself to some wine. Ned had half a mind to go to him and knock the whole thing out from his hands.

Though reassuring, the message had always left much unanswered. Ned wondered where the rumors of his Lyanna's abduction had come from. And if this rumor had been the catalyst for Brandon’s heedless ride into King’s Landing, then was that the purpose of it?

Ned glanced at Robert and recalled his talk of rising up against the Targaryens and wondered.

Whatever any of this was, one thing was abundantly clear to him. His lord father knew a lot more than what Maester Walys said in his letter and Ned would have to wait on him to find out what the truth was.


	29. 27: Oathbreaker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur and Lyanna spend some time together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably not the right day to post this with everything that's going on.

“I thought you would be resting,” her voice had come from the sitting room. He saw a head of dark hair lift from behind the back of the settee and she looked at him for half a heartbeat before she turned back to what it was she had been doing when he stepped into the solar. Arthur removed his doublet, and laid it on the back of one of the chairs, then went to the desk, poured wine for himself and water steeped with ginger and lemon and sweetened with honey for her.

“Too many bruises to be able to,” he replied as he walked up to her.They had trained hard in the yard today, him and Rhaegar and Oswell. They had gone hard at each other, giving no quarters. Rhaegar had given him such a savage blow to the back of his thigh that he could scarcely put his full weight on his leg. Even a soak in the hot baths had done little to alleviate his aches. “Are you embroidering?” he asked her, surprised, once he took stock of the red thread and a thick piece of leather, an inch and half wide, that was in her lap. He handed her the cup and she smiled up at him.

“Thank you. And queerer things have happened I’ll have you know.” She took a sip, made a face and set the cup down beside her.

“Where are the other two?” The low weirwood-carved table was strewn with pieces of cyvasse and there were cushions on the floor. Arthur did not need to ask what she and Rhaegar had been up to the past two hours.

 _“Red Leaf_ was spotted on the horizon,” Lady Lyanna said. “Rhaegar and Oswell went to wait for the captain’s steward on the beach in case there are messages.”

Arthur nodded his head knowingly. Rhaegar had worked hard since they had arrived. He saw to his businesses, his ships, his storehouses. He had opened the account ledgers for Lady Lyanna who had gone over them diligently. He had taken her down to the harbor and started initiating her to the day-to-day operations which she had begun taking over while he was at his letters and his schemes. It had given Arthur a feeling of unease. He had known Rhaegar for such a long time now and Rhaegar was preparing her for the eventuality that he would not survive this dangerous game he was playing.  

While overseeing the little empire he had built himself was something he could do with his eyes closed, trying to secure the Reach’s support in a Great Council was a different matter entirely and had proved difficult. The Reach wanted things in return and Rhaegar was not in a giving mood.

 _The realm needs stability,_ Rhaegar reasoned, and the lords would either follow him into this because they saw sense in it and were ready for change or they would fall in behind Aerys and support him. Everyone knew how open-handed the king was with those who pleased him. But Rhaegar had always worked differently from his father and his mettle was tested. But he was nothing if not patient.

He had broken all talks with Mace Tyrell and made sure he knew he had kept all their correspondence. It was a veiled threat, but one he was certain even the Warden of the South and Lord of Highgarden would understand plainly enough. “Rhaegar, do you think it’s a good idea to alienate him?” Arthur had asked him. Rhaegar had shrugged and assured him he knew what he was doing. It was a gamble, but he believed the Reach would see things his way once the information about his marriage and what Aerys had done became known.

“The game of thrones is lords’ game, played upon scaffolds,” Rhaegar had once said to him. He was not wrong. There was much and more at stake.

“How do you feel?” Arthur asked his lady. He looked her over with a critical eye. Her face was fuller than it was when they had departed Westeros. Her skin no longer had that yellow cast to it and those dark circles under her eyes were gone. She looked healthier and he was glad for it. She hadn't felt well, though, the last couple of days.

Arthur had been trained for a lot in his life, prepared for a lot. At heart, he was a soldier, had always been a soldier. He had seen blood and death. He had killed men, though he never liked killing. But nothing had left a permanent mark on him than that one instant when that arrow had whistled past him and Rhaegar to embed itself into Lyanna’s body. It had enraged him to find his princess standing there with her sword raised to protect herself and it had chipped away at him to see her at death’s door.

And for what? To assuage a king’s paranoia? To destroy a son?

There had been a lot of things Arthur had not been sure of when Rhaegar had returned from Summerhall after his seventeenth name day. He had not been sure of this girl his oldest friend in the world was so smitten with. Oh, he knew well enough who she was. He remembered her from their journey to the Wall and Castle Black and if he closed his eyes, he could see her still, standing there, so young and so sad and so fragile, promising that one day she would run beyond the Wall to make a life for herself.

Less than a year later, after she had moved from Winterfell to be fostered in the stormlands, the stories about Lord Stark’s little daughter had reached them in King’s Landing. ‘Wild’ had been one word used frequently to describe her. And that she had traveled on her own all the way to Summerhall said much and more about her character. Arthur had wondered many a night as he had lain awake what it was that had attracted Rhaegar so much to this girl. He could never stay away from her long and she was never far from his mind. Before long Rhaegar had been deeply in love and for all his teasing of him, Arthur had been somewhat baffled by that turn of event.

He had seen it, though. Rhaegar had been _happy._ It was something his friend had always denied himself. More than that, Lyanna Stark had come along when Rhaegar had needed her the most. It was queer how these things happened. And when he found her, he found joy and a life that went beyond burdens and duty. Rhaegar had found peace. An answer to a prayer if Arthur had ever seen one.

That was until Aerys visited his wrath upon the lady and near killed her. Arthur could not even bring himself to think on what would have happened to his friend in those terrible moments when they thought she might die. Those days had been the longest and most difficult ones Arthur had ever experienced in his life. Rhaegar’s world had become frighteningly still. He barely held himself together and Arthur feared that thin thread his friend was holding on by would snap. There was something punishing and unfathomably cruel to have to bear witness to what had been unfolding before his eyes.

Arthur’s concerns had been the same ones Oswell had. He did not know how Rhaegar would go on if his lady was lost to him. He did not know what kind of man would rise from the ashes of his pain and heartache. In all the years he had known him, Arthur had never seen Rhaegar shed a single tear. Yet at Harrenhal, he’d seen him wipe them away with the back of his hand angrily while he sat vigil by her sick bed. The loss of a child was a powerful thing and the possible loss of the woman he adored, the person he had loved more than anyone in his life, was no less distressful. That had been the most frightening thought of all, that Rhaegar would change so drastically after the vicious lesson Aerys sought to teach him that none of them would recognize their prince any longer.

Arthur never knew he had been holding his breath during those days of uncertainty until the maester had found him and Oswell to let them know their lady was finally awake. Standing next to him, Oswell had scrubbed his face with his hands and let out a long sigh of relief, finally letting go of some of that overwhelming guilt he’d felt all along.

“I am much better,” she said. It had been her stomach at first, but then she had been so warm to the touch, her cheeks so pink, Rhaegar had called the healer in. That was two days past. “The sight of food makes me ill still, but the broth Meerya has been making for me has helped.”

She put her needlework aside and stood from her place. She opened the onyx box on the table and started putting away the cyvasse pieces before she closed it. “He beat me again,” she explained. “He says I am overbold with my formation.”

Arthur snorted at that. “You? Overbold? I would never have guessed it!” He helped her pick up the pillows from the ground and set them back on the other settee.

“I will choose to ignore that comment, ser,” she said with hands on her hips and a small smile.

“How is it that you are not down on the beach with them?”

“I was feeling tired still from the past few days,” she replied. Arthur thought Rhaegar may have convinced her to continue resting. She had been more biddable and more amenable since her ordeal. But he also recognized some of that restlessness that always came over her. She could never be confined for more than a handful of days at a time.

“I have never known you to admit to such a thing.”

She shrugged at that. “I used to think admitting such things was a weakness.” She picked up her shawl and wrapped it around her shoulders before she took her embroidery. “I am going to sit on the balcony. Will you come with me?”

Arthur nodded and picked up their cups in one hand. He went ahead and held the door open for her.  The breeze was cool outside and from where they were, they could see two figures standing in the sand, waiting for the boat that was making its slow approach. Rhaegar was easily recognizable by his silver hair.

The location of the manse made everything they were doing easier. It was isolated on its hill but a stone’s throw from the harbor. It was a sprawling estate, beautiful, with clean lines that would have put most castles in Westeros to shame. Yet with all that it was nowhere near as large as the manses that belonged to the magisters. But its walls were some of the thickest and highest around and they had guards enough to see to their safety.

The cove was part of the property, protected by its rocks and the iron fence that Rhaegar had added atop them. The men and women he employed in Essos were former slaves for the most part. Among other things, they weaved beautiful cloth for him that he exported, they captained and rowed some of his ships, they guarded his homes and storehouses, they tended his gardens. He paid them good wages, housed them, ensured their children were taught their letters and sums and writing. He had shown them kindness and understanding. In return men and women alike were unfailingly loyal to him.

The things Rhaegar wanted to do in Westeros would change the face of the realm, Arthur reflected, as he looked down at the beach before he sat by Lady Lyanna.

They were not dupe, though. Arthur knew as well as his companions there was an excellent chance Aerys would have already found out where they were. But Rhaegar was not trying to hide from his father. He wanted him to know exactly where he was. If he had wanted to hide, he said, he would have gone to Lys where the blood of Old Valyria still ran strong.

He thought the letter sent to King’s Landing should have been received by now. Rhaegar had been ruthless and rebellious with his words. _“I no longer have a father,”_ he had written. _“Nor do I recognize you as my king. Whatever love and kindness that existed between us is now of the past. You raised a hand to my wife and slew the child she carried. Mine own child. Mine own blood. Mine own heir. A dragon for our once proud line. Henceforth, you mean little and less to me. May the Father Above judge you justly for your actions against your own blood and the subjects of the realm.”_

Arthur imagined that half of King’s Landing knew the contents of it by now. He had lived in the Red Keep long enough to know news like this could never be contained for long.

Lyanna had picked up her thread and needle again and pointed up to the stars above them. “Old Nan used to tell me stories about ice dragons when I was a little girl,” she said. “The first time I went to the Wall, I half expected to see one flying above.”

Arthur had gone to the Wall only once in his life and never wished to return again. It had been bitterly cold and Castle Black had been half a ruin. He had wondered how anyone could live like that, in that never ending winter. Arthur had still been half a boy himself then, absorbing all that was around him. Inside the Shieldhall, he had seen the lilac shield bearing the sword and star of his House, had been reminded that there were Daynes who had served in the Night’s Watch. One of his forebears, the last king of the Torrentine, had been sent to the Wall by Nymeria in golden fetters. She was his forebear too. “And what do ice dragons look like,” he asked her curiously.

“They are larger than the dragons of Valyria,” she explained, “and they are made of living ice with eyes of pale blue crystal and vast translucent wings. They don’t breathe fire, though.”

“And what do they breathe if not fire?”

She lowered her voice and took on an ominous tone. _“They breathe cold.”_ She giggled. “You _should_ see your face.”

He felt a shiver run up and down his back and frowned at her. “So it’s _not_ true," he said slowly.

“Oh no. It’s very true. At least according to Old Nan.” Lyanna held Winterfell’s old wet nurse in high regard as did Rhaegar after he had met her.

“Sounds frightening,” Arthur said, remembering what little they knew of the enemy beyond the Wall that would one day soon threaten the realms of men. Living ice and pale blue eyes was not something Arthur wanted to think on just now.

“No more than a fire breathing dragon,” she replied. “How does one become the Sword of the Morning?”

Arthur chuckled at that and stared at her for a brief moment. “That was a great show of restraint after all the years we have known each other. You only ask me that now?”

“I asked Rhaegar, actually.”

“Of course you did. And what did Rhaegar say?”

“Well, he was reading, and we both know that is _never_ a good start to any conversation. But surprisingly he lifted his head long enough and then said _‘I’m not sure why you are asking me that. It’s a family secret that goes back ten thousand years, darling. You wouldn’t want me to break his confidence, do you? Why don't you ask the Sword of the Morning?’_ Then he went back to reading some bloody boring dissertation on something or other.” Arthur barked out a laugh at the answer she gave him.

“What’s so funny?” She crossed her arms over her chest and stared at him slightly confounded.

“Leave it to your husband to make this sound much more exciting than it is,” he replied. “He was only goading you.”

“The gods blessed Rhaegar with so many qualities. He is brilliant, kind, gentle, understanding, very gallant, loving, beautiful to look upon. But he can be such a muttonhead,” she said with a slight head shake and an eye roll, but Arthur could see the corners of her mouth lift just enough to know she was trying to suppress a smile. “It would have been easier for him to tell me not to bother him.”

“Oh, most certainly.” He smiled fondly at her. “There really are no secrets to this. It’s quite boring, actually.” She looked disappointed at that, Lady Lyanna did. “The Targaryens look for the bleeding star as their herald and the Daynes chase after the white traveling star, crossing through the sword of the morning. The night I was born, the star was seen in the constellation, right above Starfall.”

“Truly?” She narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously.

“And what kind of question is that, my lady?” he asked her. “Have I ever lied to you?”

She tilted her head and stared at him. “I suppose not.” She picked up her cup and drank deeply. “Rhaegar was born under a bleeding star and you were born under that white star. Perhaps your friendship was meant to be.”

“Perhaps. The omens are not enough for one to become the Sword of the Morning, however. A man of House Dayne has to be worthy of the sword he will carry. You still must need earn the sword and the title. I was put through the paces at a very young age,” he told her. “If I hadn’t had the necessary skills to carry Dawn or the disposition for it, the title would have remained dormant until someone else came along.”

She seemed to contemplate his words, but then, he saw her tugging at one of her sleeves as she always did when she was trying to figure out a way to bring up something that was uncomfortable. “I am sorry for what my brother did,” she blurted out. “I could never work up the courage to broach this up. Rhaegar told me I should let it go because you had, but what he did was wrong and I am sorry for it.”

“Have I ever told you about my brother?” he asked her.

She shook her head. “No. But Rhaegar said he is temperamental.”

“That’s one way of putting it. Aethan is the eldest son who lived in the shadow of a younger son. It is not unheard of, of course, but it doesn’t happen all that often. It was not always easy for him. If he had his pick between Starfall and Dawn, he would choose Dawn every time.”

“And you?” she asked.

“Me? I was like most every boy I had ever encountered. I was thirsty for adventure. I would have chosen the sword over the claim.” He traced around the pattern on his cup with his thumb. “I was gone from home, but he was kept behind to learn everything he could learn about our House, ten thousand years of history. He learned to fight. He learned to rule. He is as Dornish as they come, boiling blood and all. Ashara was his companion. He was more father to her than brother because of the age difference between them. The truth is, I don’t know my sister near as well as I should know her. I have near seven years on her. I was sent to the Water Gardens and then to King’s Landing before she could sit on her own. One thing I know about her, though, is to never forbid her to do something. Forbid her something and it becomes her heart’s desire.”

“I know something about that,” Lady Lyanna said. He watched her struggle pulling the needle through the leather. “I also know something about overprotective brothers. They are overbearing and vexing.”

“And we are _everywhere._ I don’t think there’s any getting rid of us.” It had been Aethan who had pointed out to Arthur their sister’s behavior. And when his brother had warned her away from Brandon Stark, it had been like feeding a moth to the flame. “My brother has a temper. He is not unlike your brother in that. He can run the gamut of emotions inside one heartbeat. I spoke to Brandon. I figured better me than Aethan or we might have had a fight on our hands. A bloody one at that.”

“Ned went to Rhaegar as well.”

“I know. He told me. I am not wholly blind to the dishonesty of the situation,” he told her. “It was the look in my sister’s eyes that was frightening. After a handful of days, she wanted more, that was plain enough. What sent Aethan into a rage was that she had lain with your brother. He saw her marriage prospects evaporating, he started thinking of all the consequences that she would have to face, the honor of our House. A man who beds a lady will always be praised. I don’t have to tell you what a woman’s worth is measured with. People will talk no matter what. What bothered me was that there was no possible outcome where her heart would not be broken, where she would not be the only one left to pick up the pieces. Lord Brandon was promised elsewhere. And he had been for a long time. And it wasn’t the daughter of a some minor lord either.”

She was looking at him intently. On the piece of leather she was working on, he could see outlines drawn in white and a red dragon taking shape. “I didn’t hold my sword to your brother's throat because of what he and my sister did. Done was done, there was no going back. His words, that he did not give my sister consideration enough with his actions were a separate issue altogether. In that moment, in his anger, he reminded me _so much_ of my brother that I feared he would do Rhaegar harm and Rhaegar would not have defended himself against him. I understand his instinct for wanting to protect you well enough. I could not take the chance that he would draw his sword on Rhaegar. It was enough that he had threatened his life. If Aerys had caught wind of this, he would have had him killed. Would anything have stopped him from seizing your two other brothers and labeling them traitors before the realm after that?”

Lyanna shook her head slowly. She had a far away look in her eyes. “No. I suppose not. It’s his wedding today. Brandon’s,” she said. “I said terrible things to him that day in Rhaegar’s pavilion, then I decided I would not speak to him. I thought there would be time enough to try and make things right when I saw him at Riverrun. It makes me sad that he will be missing two of his siblings on the day his life changes. I wished I had made things right with him when those sellswords were coming after me. I thought I would be going to my grave with all that anger between us still. I regret my behavior. I regret the things I said to him. Sometimes I wish I had confessed the truth then and there.”

Arthur did not disagree with her notion. “I promise you he knows you wish it was otherwise between you,” Arthur told her. “We all say things in anger. We all say things we do not mean. And we could have handled the situation much differently, that is true enough. But I don’t know that your brother was in a fit state to listen or that he would have been less angry finding out about your marriage like that.” He leaned forward to have a better view of Rhaegar and Oswell.

By now, Brandon Stark should know everything. His lord father will have told him and his other son, the quiet one, that Lady Lyanna and Prince Rhaegar were married. They likely knew that she had dressed in armor at Harrenhal and was nearly killed by the king for her honorable deed. They likely knew that she bore a child for a short while and then lost it due to one mad man’s folly. They would know that she was across the narrow sea.

Jon Arryn and Hoster Tully and Robert Baratheon would be privy to this as well by now. Arthur doubted Robert Baratheon would be as graceful or understanding as Elia had been. But the news of Lyanna’s marriage to Rhaegar should come as no shock to the storm lord seeing as he should have received the letter that put an end his betrothal.

After today, everything would finally be out in the open and things would start progressing at a much quicker pace as the plans Rhaegar was making would come together. Lord Stark would be boarding a ship at Saltpans in a week's time to make his way to Pentos. All there would be left after that was to figure out a way to get the queen and the little prince out of the Red Keep and to safety. Lady Lyanna had come up with a brilliant idea. Implementing it was going to be a little difficult, however.

“Sometimes, what Rhaegar and I did doesn’t feel so different from what I reproached my brother that day,” she confessed.

Arthur and Rhaegar had understood each other from the first. They had both been born to prophecies and legacies and pressures and burdens too heavy to carry. “How does a man stand tall when he feels crushed?” Rhaegar had once asked him. Arthur did not know, but they had both managed. They had become as close as brothers. Yet for all that, Rhaegar was still a sad and melancholy boy who grew into a melancholy man.

He had been there, Arthur had. He had tried to be a steady presence in Rhaegar’s life. And Rhaegar had done the same for him. Rhaegar had been there when Arthur had received that ill news. “What’s between you and Rhaegar is wholly different. The truth should have come out long ago, I grant you. But I disagree that your situation with Rhaegar is the same. He loves you and you love him for one. You are married to him for another. The secrets that have been kept from your families are terrible, but would we be standing here if Duskendale had never happened?”

“I doubt it. I often wonder how different our lives would be. No one would have so much as blinked at Harrenhal if everything had been out in the open.”

Arthur had been glad when the tourney was finally over. There had been nothing remotely subtle about Rhaegar’s behavior during that time. Arthur had warned him to curb himself and be mindful of the eyes around him and the scrutiny he was subject to. He would not listen to him.

Where his lady was concerned, Rhaegar never listened. By the time they had arrived at Harrenhal, Rhaegar had been separated from her for some four moon’s turns. He was tired of the secrets, weary of the mess he had made of things. Most of all he had missed her. Rhaegar had taken to walking the halls of Dragonstone aimlessly after his lady had gone to Winterfell, haunting every corner of his keep. The castle had become so quiet after she had gone, even Arthur felt her absence keenly.

Rhaegar had come so close to spilling everything at the opening feast when Lyanna had been forced onto the dance floor with a drunken Robert Baratheon, making Arthur wish he had not cut that dance short. But his lady had been in trouble and her brother had been distracted.

“I understand more than you know,” he said slowly. “There was a girl once and I was besotted with her.”

“What was her name?”

“Leyla Blackmont. I met her at the Water Gardens long after I had left them. I had gone to Dorne to visit my family at Starfall after we had left the Wall, then made my way east to see my sister. The lady was a companion to Princess Elia and heir to her House. I was fourteen and struck dumb when I saw her. It was as though I had swallowed my tongue around her.”

“What happened?”

“I expressed my interest and so did she. My lord father was away on campaign in Essos on behalf of House Martell, so it was my Fowler grandsire who negotiated the betrothal, same as he had negotiated Aethan’s to Lord Allyrion’s daughter. Lord Blackmont was all too eager to tell all of Dorne that his future good son was the Sword of the Morning. She was traveling back from visiting her mother in Tyrosh when the ship she was on was blown off course and near to the Stepstones. They were boarded by pirates. The ship was lost and so was she.”

Her eyes grew wide with shock at that. “I am so sorry,” she said.

“I had hoped for half a year that I would receive news that said otherwise. But not everyone can be saved and not everyone is blessed with a second chance.” He thought of the words he had spoken to Rhaegar while they sat in the sand, watching Lyanna ride her horse. “Her father offered his second daughter and new heir for me to marry, but I had no taste for it. As it happened a place in the Kingsguard became vacant and Aerys was all too happy to have the Sword of the Morning amongst his Sworn Seven. The Targaryens and Daynes are distant kin. Rhaegar comes from Dyanna Dayne’s line and I am a direct descendant of her brother’s line and the last man to have carried Dawn into battle. The white cloak was worn by men whom I admired. My path was laid before me.”

“Do you wish it was otherwise?” She pulled her shawl tighter around her and her dress blew in the breeze.

He stared at the tiles on the ground, examining them. The red three-headed dragon stared back at him. Arthur loved Rhaegar. He was his brother in all but name. And if he spent his life by his side, protecting him, protecting his wife and whatever children they may have, then he would be happy. This was his place, Arthur had no doubt of that. “I have spent so many nights wide awake, wondering if I was worthy of that cloak. I wondered what it was I was doing, wondered about the vows I had taken. I remember kneeling before Aerys, swearing him my sword and obedience. But I also remember being knighted, standing vigil in the sept. I remember my knees bleeding by the time I had finally emerged from there. I remember what I swore to. I also remember who it was who stood vigil with me in the sept because we were knighted at the same time.”

“Rhaegar.”

Arthur nodded at that. He still had his boyhood dreams in those days. He would be the best knight the realm had ever seen, he thought when he swore his knightly vows. And when he was named Kingsguard, he promised himself he would be as good as Aemon the Dragonknight. Prince Aemon had done his duty to his king to the very end, though.

Any way he looked at it, Arthur had broken one vow to uphold another. He could not be a knight and a Kingsguard at the same time. He could not obey the king, _this king,_ without harming those he swore to protect on the day he had won his golden spurs. “I am not following Rhaegar into this for love of him only. I am following Rhaegar into this because he has it in him to be a good king, a great one even. One of the earliest lessons I learned was in the Water Gardens when I was still a small child.”

“What was it?” she asked him.

“The Martells bring children from all over. There are the children of lords and lesser lords and the children of servants, swimming and playing together in the pools and fountains. When we are running around naked, there is nothing to distinguish a child of high birth from a child of low birth. It’s a lesson Rhaegar never needed the Water Gardens to teach him. _‘We are all flesh and blood,’_ he once said to me.” It had been a handful of months since Arthur had arrived in King’s Landing and outside the city, Rhaegar had sat and watched children at their play. _‘We don’t need walls between us. What we need is respect.’_ A princeling of all but ten name days who already understood a lesson adults never heed in a lifetime.”

 _Serve. Obey. Protect._ Those had been Arthur’s vows. Serve the king, obey the king, protect the king. Serve, obey and protect a king who had become a beast in human skin. Serve, obey and protect a king who raped his queen. Serve, obey and protect a king who would burn the world to the ground, reduce it to ashes and cinders for spite.

 _“Do you swear before the eyes of gods and men to defend those who cannot defend themselves, to protect all women and children, to obey your captains, your liege lord, and your king, to fight bravely when needed and do such other tasks as are laid upon you, however hard or humble or dangerous they may be?”_ his Lord Commander uncle had tapped his shoulder with his sword as he knighted him.

 _I do,_ Ser Arthur Dayne had sworn upon the gods.

 _But what kind of man am I,_ he had wondered time and again. _Am I not an oathbreaker,_ he asked himself countless times as he stood sentinel in front of gentle Rhaella’s chambers and heard her trying to fend off her husband or when he stood below the Iron Throne and heard men and women being sentenced to burn, though they may have been innocent.

Arthur had broken every vow he had taken. He was done, though. His eyes were wide open now and he would never obey Aerys or serve him again. He would sooner lose his head than ever go back to that. Arthur was a knight first and foremost and he had a duty to the realm and the realm must come first. He would not follow his vows blindly any longer.

And if he had not already been convinced a regent was urgently needed for the good of Westeros, then Aerys sending sellswords to murder a girl whose only wrong had been to enter a joust would have no doubt made him step over that line.

Just when he thought he had seen it all . . . the shaft of the arrow protruding from Lyanna’s belly had made him want to hurl and his hands had been no less shaking than Rhaegar’s own when he pulled it out of her. In his mind, her scream that night blended with the screams of Rhaella and the screams of those who fed Aerys’s green flames. In his dreams, they had become one painful drawn out wail. This was Arthur's chance at redemption.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Rhaegar and Oswell move and the row boat being pulled onto the sand. Lady Lyanna saw it too. She stood and leaned over the balustrade, watching. Arthur joined her there. “When I was ill, at Harrenhal, I had a fever dream. In it, he died. The pain I felt was so unbearable I thought I might go mad for it.”

Arthur frowned at that but she said no more. “Rhaegar has always been a cautious man,” Arthur said. “He doesn’t play if he doesn’t think he will win. He believes it is only a matter of time before there is a rebellion in the realm. He must get ahead of it or else he could be swept in it with the king.”

She gave no reply to his words. Rhaegar seldom kept things from her, Arthur knew as much. It may be that she already knew his thoughts on this.

 _“I have hit the bottom, Arthur. I am not afraid of anything anymore,”_ Rhaegar had told him at Harrenhal after his babe had been lost, when he thought his wife might die.

Arthur had been alongside Rhaegar for a lot. They had been friends for a long while. Sometimes it was difficult to remember a time when they were not part of each others’ lives. Arthur had seen him grow and he had seen him falter and when he thought he might fold or break under the pressure, he stood tall instead and he went on, stubbornly, single-minded, he went on.

Cautious as he was, Rhaegar behaved like a man who was without fear. Come what may, he would see things through or die trying.

Whether Aerys still expected the return of his son after that blistering letter Rhaegar had sent him remained to be seen.

He looked at Lyanna Stark. _Such a lovely girl,_ he thought once more. The way the flames from the torch were playing against her hair and skin gave her an ethereal glow. There was so much more to her than the reputation she had garnered herself. She was willful, that was true enough, but she was also strong and had no lack of courage. She was kind to those around her and she made fast friends with everyone she encountered, no matter their station in life. She was dutiful and loyal. That most of all.

Her lips tugged into a smile when she saw Rhaegar and Oswell were returning. “We should go inside. Rhaegar will look for you,” Arthur said. She nodded and picked up her things from the chair. Once inside, she put her embroidery away and turned toward the door as footsteps were slowly approaching.

Rhaegar stepped into the solar first and smiled when he saw them.

“Where’s Oswell?”

“The baths,” Rhaegar said. “He said he has a bruise the size of your head on his side. That blow you gave him was brutal.”

“No less brutal than the one you gave me.”

Rhaegar rolled his eyes at him. “You are not complaining to me about that, are you? You drew blood and left me with a gash on my back. I look as though I have been whipped.” He made his way to his wife and touched her cheek with the back of his hand, trying to gauge the warmth of her skin. “How do you feel?”

“As well as I was hours ago,” she replied with narrowed eyes. “You seem pleased.”

Rhaegar smiled widely at that. “The Queen of Thorns has written. She sends you her warmest regards and congratulates us on our marriage.” Then the smile vanished from his face. “She also sends her condolences for . . .”

“Oh.” Lady Lyanna lowered her head. “So the news has spread?”

“It would seem that it has. It is much quicker than I had anticipated. She said we can count on the Reach’s support once the Great Council has been called. They will commit men as well if we have need of them.”

“Has she asked for anything in return?” Arthur asked.

Rhaegar shook his head. He sat down and pulled Lyanna down with him. “Olenna Redwyne is no fool. The Great Council will happen with or without the Reach. I think she much rather we all start on the right foot. I was hoping she would intervene.”

“That’s good,” Arthur said. It was very good. Rhaegar could use all the support he could get in this. Rhaegar gaining allies meant that Aerys’s support was eroding. “And on this note, I will be off to bed if you have no need of me.”

“Thank you for keeping me company, Arthur,” Lyanna said, smiling up at him, her fingers tugging at the chain her husband wore about his neck, a three-headed dragon picked in a rubies on onyx. “Like your armor,” she’d said when she had gifted it to him. “Remember who you are. A Targaryen. A dragon.”

Arthur smiled back at her. “Goodnight, my lady. Prince.”

“Rest well, old friend.”

Halfway down the hall, Arthur doubled back and went back to the solar to pick up his doublet. Rhaegar and Lady Lyanna were outside. He was sitting, his legs splayed and stretched out before him and she stood there, between them. Whatever she was saying had Rhaegar in stitches. She began to laugh too when Rhaegar made a grab for her.

 _Freedom,_ Arthur thought. Or at least a taste of it.

When he was still half a boy with his head full of dreams of adventures and glory, his lord father had explained to him that freedom did not truly exist. Duty must always come first, he'd told him. Freedom was something men fooled themselves into believing they had. It was naught but an illusion that one tried to hold on to. Arthur had no doubt his father was right for the most part. It was this life with his lady and the freedom Rhaegar had taken for himself that had near cost him everything.

Yet here, in this very moment, watching the people nearest and dearest to him, he saw all that he needed to see. While duty hanging over their heads like a dark cloud, the freedom to be also felt very real to him.

And for the first time in his life Arthur, oathbreaker that he was, had the freedom to choose which direction his life would go and he had the freedom to choose who he would serve. Mindful not to make noise, he picked up his doublet, turned around and left the solar, the sound of Lyanna and Rhaegar joyful laughter at his back.

He could not help but smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things will not always be this quiet. I think we've got at the most 3 more chapters before the shit hits the fan once more. Things will just start happening after that.
> 
> If there are errors (grammar, missing word and so on), please don't hesitate to point them out.
> 
> I have changed the title of chapter 25 (Jaime chapter) to "Spilled Tea."
> 
> I will also be expecting payment in the form of feedback and comments ;)


	30. 28: Bygones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A viper visits Pentos

Oberyn Martell had been in Pentos a week before they came to find him. He had wanted to watch and observe before he decided if he wanted to make his presence known or cut his losses and return to Dorne.

He saw Lady Lyanna Stark in the mornings, always with a smile etched upon her face, accompanied by Ser Oswell Whent as she left the manse and headed down to the harbor. There she met with ship captains and stewards, inspected the cargo holds, went to the storehouses for the inventory and even paid the wages owed to the workers. She always returned home by midday and she did not leave again until the following morning. The prince seemed to put a lot of trust in his lady wife.

Every now and again, Rhaegar Targaryen would leave the manse with Arthur Dayne. He would go to the red temple, taverns and inns along the wharfs, consort with fishermen, harbormasters and whores before he took his leave and returned home.

The manse was a fortress and the people who lived in it were discretion personified. Oberyn had seen men and women go in and out. He had paid good coin to try and loosen tongues. But that had not worked. There were those who refused his coin and held their tongues and there were those who took his coin and told him tales. But he knew those were tall tales. It had been a waste of time and coin. It reminded him of what his lady mother had said to him after she had secured Elia’s betrothal to the prince. She was not wrong. The Prince of Dragonstone knew how to inspire loyalty, even this far away from Westeros. It was an admirable quality that spoke to his nature.

Yestermorn, he and Oswell Whent had found him at one of the less savory inns of the city. Oberyn had been breaking his fast when they stood before him. Prince Rhaegar had tossed him a purse of coin before he and the Kingsguard had seated themselves across from him. “I believe the contents are yours,” the prince had said with an even tone, though Oberyn Martell did see anger flash in those indigo eyes.

Judging by the weight of the purse, he suspected that every piece of silver and gold he had paid the men and women of the prince’s household were accounted for. “It is a rare thing to have people so loyal,” he commented offhandedly, taking a bite from his hard boiled egg. “You always had that gift.” Oberyn had looked at the prince thoughtfully. “You always knew how to inspire loyalty. You _did_ manage to abscond with two of your father’s Kingsguard after all.” He pointed his chin at Oswell Whent who rolled his eyes at him.

“What is it that you want, Oberyn? You send a message telling me that you are coming. Then you arrive a week ago and do a poor job of hiding in the city. My lady wife saw you. Then you harass the members of my household in the hopes that they would tell you what exactly? What do you want with my wife?”

“I did not harass them. I offered them coin. And I want nothing with your wife. I was merely trying to find out who this woman was who took my sister’s place.”

The truth was, Oberyn Martell did not care who the Prince of Dragonstone married and who he took into his bed. He had been merely curious about the lady after he’d heard some outlandish rumors about her being the one who donned the mismatched armor and entered the lists at Harrenhal.

Rhaegar Targaryen and Arthur Dayne had been no strangers to Oberyn. He and Arthur were the terrors of the pools and fountains of the Water Gardens during their time there. Later he had been one of Queen Rhaella’s pages. He had been in King’s Landing with Rhaegar and Arthur for two years before being called back to Dorne and sent to Sandstone. After that, he had seen them at this or that tourney, had competed against them. Prince Rhaegar had won his tilts against him more times than he had fingers to count.

Oberyn knew the prince well enough, but his little wife was something of a mystery, though she and Elia were fond of each other.

While the relationship between Oberyn and Rhaegar had always been an amicable one, Harrenhal had soured him some. He understood everything well enough, and the heir to the Iron Throne had been quite clear when he was confronted at the end of the tourney.

“It all goes back and back, doesn’t it,” Rhaegar Targaryen had said to him as they stood there on the battlements of Wailing Tower. Oberyn had been angry as he watched the prince lean over the stones and look on as the Stark party departed from Harrenhal. He had chewed on his lip a long time before he had turned to face him. “It all goes back and back to our mothers and fathers and theirs before them. We are puppets dancing on the strings of those who came before us, and one day our own children will take up our strings and dance in our steads. I have cut my strings, my lord. Same as you have.”

“I am a second son,” Oberyn had replied.

“And your brother? Was he a second son as well? Was he doing his duty to Dorne when he married a lady from Norvos?”

 _No, my brother followed his heart, for all the good it did him._ “House Martell has taken husbands and wives in Essos for hundreds of years.”

“You and I are standing on even ground when it comes to this. Do not lecture me on my duty to marry when you have balked at yours.” He had left him standing there.

 _He was not wrong,_ Oberyn had reflected. Lately, he had met a woman he could see himself spending the rest of his days with. She made him happy and understood him like no other ever had. But she was the natural daughter of Lord Harmen Uller of Hellholt and being a bastard made her too lowborn for a prince of Dorne. Doran would never give him leave to marry her. And perhaps it was just as well. He had no desire to tie his children to this kind of duty. He owed them that much for bringing them into this imperfect world.

It had been Elia who had told him of the conversation she’d had with their uncle Kingsguard and Rhaegar once they had reached Summerhall in the Dornish Marches. She had told him of the prince’s marriage to Lyanna Stark that had taken place before the events at Duskendale. What she had confided in him had shed light on Prince Rhaegar’s behavior during the tourney. Oberyn may not have liked any of it, but he understood it. “I have the freedom to choose for myself, brother,” his sister had said. “Rhaegar Targaryen has given me that much at least.”

Never had the thought of love and marriage crossed Oberyn Martell’s mind. He thought Rhaegar wanted the girl and may have been lusting after her. She was desirable, certainly. Beautiful woman that she was. And she was very different from the other ladies who had been present at Harrenhal. She was what Oberyn would have called a curiosity. Girls like her were rare. Even in Dorne.

Just as everyone else in the Seven Kingdoms, Oberyn had not only heard of Rhaegar Targaryen’s resistance to his betrothal to Elia, but knew of it because she had told him.

He had also heard the outlandish rumor about Cersei Lannister and laughed wholeheartedly at his brother’s confused look when he found out about Lyanna Stark. “The princeling never had any desire for the Lannister woman,” Oberyn said. He had once told him of the incident at Casterly Rock with the Imp when he was a babe a few weeks old, how she had unswaddled him and twisted his little cock so hard, Oberyn was certain she meant to twist it off. Rhaegar had looked horrified by that.

“I never had any interest in her,” he’d told him. “It goes beyond her sense of entitlement. There is an underlying cruelty in her. She hides it well, but every now and again it flashes in her eyes when she thinks no one is looking. She slipped something in a lady’s drink once. I saw her. I picked up the cup to drink from it. She took it from me saying it was hers and drank what was in it to the last drop. She was ill three days, could not walk away from the privy. I’d sooner drink poison than be saddled to the likes of her.”

 _Lyanna Stark, though?_ That had been a surprise. Something so unexpected. The Rhaegar Oberyn knew had been of the predictable sort. He was dutiful above all. Dutiful to his House, dutiful to the realm.

He was also single-minded in his pursuits. If he wanted Lyanna Stark, then there would be no other.

 _There were already cracks between the king and his son,_ Oberyn reflected. Rumor had it that it was the Dragon Prince who was behind the tourney at Harrenhal and had meant for it to be an informal Great Council. It was said he wanted a regent for the Seven Kingdoms. King Aerys’s madness had left him incapable of sound judgement and ruling. It was said he wanted to remove the men of the small council as well and replace them.

Oberyn had seen the lot of them. Aerys with his nails that looked more like claws, volatile with his emotions. And Chelsted and Staunton and Merryweather who walked around with their chests puffed up with the arrogance of peacocks. He had seen it and so had everyone else, he hoped. Even a man with half the wits the gods gave a rotting cabbage should be able to see things would get worse before they got better.

Oberyn made no reply. “You know where I live, when you decide you are ready to talk.” The prince had stood and so had his Kingsguard and they had both left the inn. Oberyn had gone to the manse later that night, but neither the prince, nor his wife had appeared and Arthur had looked less than pleased with him. Oberyn had never cared how anyone looked at him. He did however care that the chambers he was assigned were comfortable and that he slept well and had his wits about him when he met the prince on the morrow.

“Where is he?” he asked Arthur when he was shown into the solar. 

“He will be here shortly,” Arthur replied.

“Does he always make it a habit to make his guests wait?” He looked around the solar. It was very spacious and seemed to double as a sitting room as well with the settees and what could only be games of cyvasse and tiles on the small table. It looked very much lived-in, he thought. And there were books. Stacks on stacks of books. _The more things change,_ he reflected as his eyes flickered back to Arthur.

He had seen him and the others this morning, after the first light of dawn. It was horses galloping out from the estate that had woken Oberyn from his sleep. He had gotten up to see Prince Rhaegar and his wife heading down toward the beach. So he’d sat there outside in the shadows, on the rather small balcony and watched the sun begin to rise east of east. He was going to head back in and get ready for the day when the horses’ hooves had clattered back into the courtyard.

He had seen the lady sway on her silver mare, nearly losing her saddle as she fainted away. Had her husband not been so close to catch her, she may have hit the ground and injured herself. He saw Arthur and Oswell Whent running to their prince from wherever they had been standing.

Prince Rhaegar had been on his knees, with the lady in his arms, trying to rouse her. Oberyn saw the way his face had contorted with fear even from where he stood. It made him think on the unsettling rumors he had heard during his journey.

When he had gone down into the kitchens looking for something to eat and asked about the lady, he had been met with hard eyes and sullen silences. He would make no friends here, he had realized once more.

“Something came up,” Arthur said. “His Grace is a busy man as you well know. And you wait on his pleasure, not the other way around.”

Oberyn ignored the barb. “I have no doubt he is busy with his princely duties,” he said with a hint of sarcasm. Arthur only rolled his eyes at him but that was all the answer Oberyn needed. Even out of his armor, the Sword of the Morning was an imposing man. “You really are still as dreadful as ever.”

“If he is dreadful, then so are you,” the reply came from behind him. Oberyn turned around and took stock of Rhaegar Targaryen. If there was a man more beautiful than he in Westeros or even here, in Essos, Oberyn Martell had not yet met him. The prince’s hair now brushed the top of his shoulders and his cheeks and chin sported a stubble. Though he was dressed very plainly, in breeches made from doeskin, a dark blue tunic that was tucked only in front and scuffed boots, there was a weight to him, a sense of power and certainty.

“How fares the lady?” Oberyn asked. “I saw her race that hellion mare of hers at Harrenhal. She did not strike me as the fainting sort.”

Prince Rhaegar stared at him for half a heartbeat and said nothing. He moved past him and went behind the large weirwood-carved desk and took his seat. A short moment later, a serving girl came with a platter of food, jams and flatbread, olives and cheese and set them down. She poured wine for them and took her leave. Oberyn took a seat and so did Arthur.

“Why were you spying on us?” the prince asked him.

“I was not spying. I was only trying to figure out if you were worth the bother.”

“Worth the bother? What does that mean exactly?” Rhaegar Targaryen was well-practiced at keeping his face neutral. Years at court, surrounded with jackanapes, Oberyn imagined.

“Are you returning to Westeros or are you staying in Pentos?” the Dornish prince had heard so many things, he no longer knew what might be truth and what might be fabrication.

“You are a clever man,” the prince said. “What do you think?”

“I see.”

“How was the wedding,” Rhaegar asked, changing the topic of conversation abruptly.

“I am surprised you would ask,” Oberyn replied with a shrug. “It was a wedding. There was a lot of prattling, a lot of wine and too much food. My sister is wedded and bedded and will hopefully be happier than she ever could with you. She does send her regards to you and your lady wife.”

“I will be sure to transmit the words.”

“Did you know those two have been corresponding?” he asked pulling a sealed letter from out of his doublet and putting it on the desk.

Rhaegar nodded and took the letter. “Lyanna is very fond of your lady sister. She will not let the awful situation we found ourselves in stop her from the friendship.”

“As far as I’m concerned, the betrothal was an awful situation of your own making.”

Prince Rhaegar pinched the bridge of his nose. “We have been over this. I am well aware of my failings and shortcomings,” he replied. “Lyanna was disappointed we could not attend the wedding.”

Yes, his sister had been disappointed as well by that. The prince and his wife had made their excuses, pleading Lady Lyanna’s brother’s wedding. “You are in Pentos. You could have sailed to Lys. Why didn’t you?”

The prince stared at him and ignored his question altogether. “Why are you here?”

Oberyn took hold of his goblet and swirled the wine within it. “You still drink that sewage from the Arbor, I see.”

“No,” Prince Rhaegar replied. “I rarely drink, but I stocked up on Arbor gold when I found out you were coming. Dornish wine is either cloyingly sweet or so sour the taste lingers on my tongue for hours.”

“Well, it _is_ an acquired taste as they say.”

“As are some people,” Rhaegar retorted with a sigh as he scratched at his chin with his forefinger.

Oberyn laughed at that and raised his goblet to his mouth and sipped at it. Who knew Rhaegar Targaryen had found his sense of humor? “You sound as though you may have forgotten Dornish blood flows through those iced veins of yours. Myriah Martell, Dyanna Dayne.”

“I know where I come from, but thank you for the history lesson.”

“I am here at my brother’s behest,” Oberyn finally said. He picked up the spoon and spread jam on a piece of flatbread. “A lot of rumors were coming from Planky Town. At first one outlandish rumor did not wait for the next. But then other rumors started coming from the west of Dorne. Small troops massing along the Prince’s Pass.” He turned his head and looked at Arthur. “Your brother and your Fowler grandfather were behind that.”

Arthur shrugged. “I have not been in touch with my brother since Harrenhal. I don’t know what he has been up to. And I have hardly spoken to my grandsire in the past ten years.”

“I know you have not been a man of Dorne since you were a boy of ten, but lying is such a terrible color on you,” he said taking a bite from his bread and chewing carefully. “Figs. Now _that_ is cloyingly sweet,” he remarked. “In any case. When I arrived at Starfall, only your lady mother and sister were there. I was told that your lord father had left for Oldtown and your brother had gone to Godsgrace to visit his bride to be.” Whatever Aethan Dayne had been up to, Oberyn did not care to find out anyway. A mule had nothing on that one.

Rhaegar leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest and looked at him. “I went to Oldtown. Found out I have another daughter.”

“How many now?” Arthur asked.

“Four. My two youngest are still with their mothers.”

“Congratulations?” Prince Rhaegar said or perhaps he was asking him if congratulations were in order.  

Oberyn shrugged at that. He would make sure no one would dare step on his daughters toes once he returned to Dorne. They would know how to take care of themselves. “How many warships do you have now?”

“One? Seven? I don’t know how many have been built.”

“You don’t know? Meticulous man that you are? Imagine my surprise when I saw three warships docked some leagues up from the Tower, hidden up the Honeywine. _Defiant, Lady of the North_ and _Princess Elaena._ The first two names are self-explanatory. But why would you name a ship after a Targaryen princess of old?”

He saw emotions flicker in the prince’s eyes. He tensed at his question, but whatever it was, he quickly tamped it down and held his tongue. “At the docks and brothels, I heard these strange rumors about King Aerys sending men to murder a certain northern lady who was married to our Silver Prince here and lost her babe.”

The prince only watched him and Oberyn continued. “King Aerys, the Second of His Name slew the dragon's heir, his trueborn grandchild in its mother's womb. They are calling His Grace a kinslayer. I even heard a ballad called ‘The King Who Slew His Kin.’ Something or other about a Dragon Prince and a Wolf Maiden’s babe snatched from their loving arms and into the clutches of a jealous king who threw the babe from a tower. If Aerys ever hears this, that bard will lose more than his tongue, I’d wager. Leyton Hightower has done little and less to curb the singers from making sad songs of this alleged event. There was not a dry eye in the city, though. Women crying for their Silver Prince’s loss and this wife they did not even know all the while cursing our king’s good name. I should think the streets of Flea Bottom are awash with tears. You are no stranger to the smallfolk there and they may even know your lady. You are not some prince they scarce remember because you visited a thousand years ago. If you want Dorne’s support, I will need to know what happened. _All of it.”_

“And what will Dorne want in return for this support?”

“Your brother, my niece.”

The prince shook his head. “I’ll not be making any marriages and Viserys’s bride will be up to my mother.”

“I am assuming you will name Lord Stark your Hand?”

Rhaegar shook his head once more. “You assume wrong. Lord Stark’s place is in the north. I am intent on another man.”

“This one?” he pointed his thumb at Arthur.

The prince snorted at that. “That would be a sure way to end our long friendship. He would never forgive me if I named him Hand.”

“Not Tywin Lannister, I hope.”

“No. I have not reached out to Lord Tywin, nor do I intend on reaching out to him. I have no need of his assistance in this matter.”

“And what if Lord Tywin decides to support Aerys? What then?”

“Then nothing,” Prince Rhaegar replied. “Lannister has no love for my father. And I have Highgarden and Winterfell’s voices.”

“By my count that makes two kingdoms.” He raised two fingers in the air. “I know you can count.”

Prince Rhaegar shifted in his chair and leaned forward. “I have no trust in Lord Tywin. Did you know he burned the letter Lord Stark sent Aerys proposing a betrothal between his daughter and myself?”

“Did he now? And will you singe the lion’s tail for this?”

“No. I will either declaw the lion or burn him out from his lair. I have not decided which yet. But by the time I am through with him, he will wish he never laid eyes on me or knew my name.”

Oberyn Martell could not have been more surprised to hear that. This was a different Rhaegar Targaryen than the one he knew or at least thought he knew. And if he meant what he said, the realm would take notice and the lords would never dare tread on him. He thought of his lady mother and how she would have smiled to hear that Lord Tywin would be cast down at last. But where was this man when Aerys’s madness had begun consuming him, he wondered.

“Positions on the small council will be held for a period of three years and no Hand will serve longer than ten. I will create new positions and I will have envoys across the Seven Kingdoms and here in the Free Cities. I was hoping you would be one of them, overseeing Lys, Tyrosh, Myr and Volantis. And I am hoping to make Brandon Stark another, to oversee Braavos, Pentos, Qohor, Norvos and Lorath.”

“Why him?”

Prince Rhaegar shrugged. “For all his faults, Brandon Stark is a charismatic man and I believe he will thrive in the role. It will also give him the opportunity to travel beyond the boundaries of Westeros.”

This was not a bad idea. The Free Cities were rich for the most part and Westeros could stand to benefit from some of their know how. Oberyn had traveled extensively through the Free Cities. He had learned more here than he could ever have hoped to learn at the Citadel.

“And what else are you planning?”

“I have plans for King’s Landing and those who live in it. I will have the streets redone. I will have no mud or filth. I would get rid of that stench. I will bring maesters to tend to the smallfolk, see to the sick. The same will be done in the crownlands. The maesters will teach those who want reading, writing and sums.”

“Reading, writing and sums in King’s Landing and the crownlands,” Oberyn repeated.

“Yes. Reading, writing and sums.”

He nodded his head slowly at that. “And you’ll not impose this on the rest of the realm?”

The prince shook his head. “No. The Houses in the crownlands are sworn to King's Landing and Dragonstone. Everyone else can do as they please.”

“I see.” He smirked at the prince. “You are a sly bastard. You will not force anyone to do do this, but you know the lords will eventually follow your lead.”

Rhaegar drained the contents of his goblet and set it back down on the desk. He took some flatbread, spread butter on it and took a healthy bite, his gaze never wavering from Oberyn’s face. He finally spoke. “We paint the world full of shadows, then we tell the smallfolk to stay close to our light. This is how they survive. But there is more than surviving. There is living and there is thriving. What good is being in power if you can’t achieve some semblance of a balance? There is possibility and there is freedom if we should share what we consider our light rather than tell them to stay close to it.”

 _Lessons from the Water Gardens,_ Oberyn thought. Lessons that were seldom applied. “Does one of the positions you are thinking of creating on the small council have to do with this, perchance?”

The prince took an olive from the bowl and popped it in his mouth. “I would have a realm where the smallfolk can read and write their names and not put an ‘X’ to a piece of parchment. There is nothing more powerful than knowledge.”

“I doubt the lords would agree with your notion.”

“And I’ll not twist their arm into doing what I am doing.”

“What else?” Oberyn asked.

“There is a lot more that will need sorting. Lord Stark should be arriving here within a fortnight. I will find out then if I have the support of the riverlands and the Vale.”

“Not the stormlands.”

“I am not counting on Robert Baratheon’s support in this. I fear he will take none of this well.”

For all his laughter and genial demeanor, Robert Baratheon was a dangerous man. Were it Oberyn, he would eliminate him. Rhaegar Targaryen might balk at such an idea, so he said nothing.

“And your Hand?”

Rhaegar raised an eyebrow at him. “Jon Arryn," he guessed. "You mean to remove any and all support from the stag and bring him to heel through his foster father. I never knew you to be so cunning.”

“I was a boy of ten when you knew me.”

“And what if that does not work? What if Tywin Lannister and Robert Baratheon were to join forces to unseat you and your House. What then? Baratheon falls in the line of succession after you and Viserys. Lannister could marry his golden daughter to the storm lord.”

Rhaegar shrugged at that. “If Lord Tywin and Robert were to join forces, then I would have to deal with them both accordingly, wouldn’t I?”

“Do you have the belly for it?”

“Tywin Lannister has schemed and lied, mucked up my plans. I’ll not give him another chance to do that. I’ll not give him or anyone the chance to hurt me and mine.”

Tywin Lannister was the most powerful man in the land and the richest. It would certainly bode well for Rhaegar if he took him down.

“What happened with Aerys?” he asked. “The rumors . . .”

 _“Princess Elaena_ is a warship named for the daughter my lady wife miscarried after Aerys sent men to slay her.”

 _Gods be good,_ Oberyn thought. _Had Aerys become so mad that he would do such a thing?_ “I am sorry to hear that. I heard all manner of rumors between Oldtown and here. The stories kept changing and evolving from one city to the other. The most prevalent story is that Aerys sent men to kill the lady after he found out you had married her. She took an arrow in a snowstorm and you carried her to some holdfast where a midwife delivered a stillborn daughter. I dared not believe it.”

Prince Rhaegar looked at him bewildered. “Mother have mercy. Where did this story come from?”

“King’s Landing, most like,” Arthur spoke.

“Aerys sent sellswords after her. It was not because of our marriage that he did so. It was because Lord Varys told him she was the mystery knight at Harrenhal,” Rhaegar said with an even tone. “She took an arrow, that is true enough. But there was no holdfast and no midwife and there was no delivery. She was not very far along in her pregnancy.”

“So it is true that she was the Knight of the Laughing Tree.”

“It is.” It was a woman’s voice. Oberyn turned around and saw Lyanna Stark standing under the doorframe. She was dressed in an indigo silk dress with long sleeves, fitted on top, belted at the waist, with a long skirt plissé and flowing. Her thick brown hair was braided in different places. Everything was tucked into a loose knot. The girl was certainly beautiful.

“You should be resting,” the prince said getting to his feet and walking up to her. Oberyn and Arthur both stood as well.

“I am better, I promise,” she said as Rhaegar took her hand in his and kissed it. “My lord,” she looked at Oberyn.

“My lady. It is good to see you again.”

That made her smile. “See my up close, you mean. You’re not very good at hiding.”

“I was not hiding,” he replied. “I was merely hoping I would go unnoticed.”

She did not seem to believe him. She studied him carefully. Arthur pulled a chair for her and Rhaegar poured her water and put the cup before her. She looked at the food with some revulsion, but it was moved away from her quickly. “How fares your lady sister?”

“She is well. Those warm rocks you sent her from Winterfell have done wonders for the ache in her joints. She is most grateful to you. As am I.”

“It was nothing. They come from the hot pools. Is she happy in her marriage?”

It was Oberyn’s turn to study the lady’s face. She was an earnest woman, Lyanna Stark, he saw. Earnest and hopeful. “I think she is. She has yet to complain. And you, my lady. Are you happy in your marriage?”

Her gaze flickered to the prince’s face and her lips tugged into a sweet smile. “I have yet to complain,” she said softly.

“You complain every day,” the prince replied, squeezing her hand in his. Oberyn looked from one to the other. He had two people before him who clearly loved each other. He saw the way the prince gazed on her. Unlike the restraint he had witnessed at Harrenhal, here, within these walls, Rhaegar Targaryen let whatever he felt for the lady wash over him. It was the same for her. They wore twin bands made from Valyrian steel about the forefinger of their left hands, he noticed, as married couples did in the Free Cities.

“They are not complaints, my heart. They are _suggestions.”_

Rhaegar Targaryen snorted at that. “Suggestions? You only say this because he does not know you, darling. Arthur, does she complain or suggest?”

“She suggests and you complain.”

The prince narrowed his eyes at him. “I love you well, Arthur, but I honestly don’t know why I keep you around,” he jested. “I clearly have no friends in this room.” He stood and brought the decanter of wine. He poured a round for everyone save for his wife and sat back down.

Lady Lyanna turned back to Oberyn. “Some rumors do hold some truth after all. I was the mystery knight, my lord.”

“My lord?” he said. “It is Oberyn, my lady.”

“I call my friends by their given name. Are you and I friends?”

“Is our friendship dependent upon Dorne’s support for your lord husband?”

She shook her head. “No. I like to think that my friendships are not beholden to our ranks or to what we can do for one another.”

Oberyn looked away from her and to Rhaegar. “I don’t see why we would not support you in a Great Council,” he said. “Half of Dorne already seems to have made up its mind as to what it wants. We can call the banners and we can have men at your disposal should you have need of them. My uncle has known you most of your life. Even though he seems to have kept himself removed from this situation, I know he will vouch for you. I can convince my brother to give you his support. He was even more displeased by what happened at Harrenhal than I was.”

The prince nodded. “I have no expectations toward your brother, one way or another. I know the trust has been broken. I was going to write him once I returned to Westeros and let him know of my intentions, but I would not ask for his support. If he chooses to support me, he will have my gratitude and if he decides otherwise, there will be no hard feelings.” He stopped and cleared his throat. “You should know I will have no need of your men. I am not intent on bloodshed.”

“These things don’t happen without bloodshed.”

“I know, and my lord father is the unpredictable sort, but I have enough men to carry out the plans I am making. All I need do is take my father in hand and arrest his small council, then I will convene everyone to the city, including your brother and we will all sit and talk like the reasonable adults that we are.”

“Would this be happening now had Aerys not sent men to kill her?”

It was the lady who answered him. “Rhaegar was at Winterfell after Harrenhal. The plan was to use my brother’s wedding to meet the other lords and get them to his side. Yes, this was going to happen regardless of what Aerys did or did not do. I always took pride in being able to take care of myself.” When Oberyn looked at her all he saw a girl who looked younger than her years and very vulnerable. It made him grateful his sister’s betrothal had gone up in smoke after all. “I tried to save myself but came up short. Ser Oswell and I were surrounded and I had to fight to save my life. Learning how to use a sword or loosing arrows was something I did because deep down, I had this secret fantasy that I could be a knight. I knew it would never happen, but I liked to pretend. Rhaegar encouraged me to learn, and I did so for my own enjoyment. Never did I think I would someday need it.” She looked up from her hands to him. “I struggled to keep the sellsword at bay. I think the worst feeling was thinking that I would never see those I loved most, that I would not be able to right my wrongs. My actions at Harrenhal delayed everything.”

“May I ask why you entered the lists? You were not doing it for glory as far as I can tell. You beat three knights and chose to not reveal your identity.” He thought it had been a boy who was dressed in the mismatched armor and then got frightened when Aerys demanded he be unmasked.

“One of our lords bannermen’s son, a crannogman of the Neck was set upon by three squires. I chased them away, but I didn’t find it was enough. My brother found me a horse and the armor and I challenged the knights whose squires had been so foul.”

“What you did was commendable, my lady. It must have been a proud moment for you.”

She shrugged. “I don’t know if I would call it a proud moment. I only wanted to repair a defenseless boy’s honor. But the price we paid was a steep one.” She took her cup to her lips and Oberyn saw her hand was shaking.

“Lya, you don’t have to speak of this.” Rhaegar was looking at her with concern.

“I do. He should know what he is dealing with,” she said. “Looking back, it was a terrible idea. It cost us our child. I nearly died and Ser Oswell could have been killed for trying to protect me. He and Ser Arthur are attainted. We had to leave our home. It was a small decision that should not have had had any true consequences. Yet it has become something of a nightmare.”

“Some people go through their lives being spectators. At least you tried. It was not your fault.”

“I am not looking for absolution.”

“I don't believe there is need of absolution for this. Do you think the realm will love you or hate you for wanting to protect the weak? I am certain the Freys will not love you and old Lord Walder may have a fit when he finds out his son was unhorsed by a slip of a girl. To be a fly on that wall!” That made her chuckle. “But most everyone will admire your courage.”

She nodded her head at him and stood. “Thank you, Oberyn. I will retire now.” He could see she was tired.

Rhaegar stood as well. “I will come with you. My lord," he told Oberyn, "you have freedom of the manse. There are horses in the stables should you want to go riding. The gardens here are beautiful and I have a well stocked library. All I ask is that you leave my people alone.”

“My lady,” Oberyn bowed his head to the Lady Lyanna.

“It’s Lyanna. We are friends, are we not?”

“I'd like to think so.”

The prince took his leave with his wife on his arm. Oberyn watched them go and once their footsteps had receded, he turned to Arthur. “I think he bit off more than he can chew,” he said, his tone hushed.

Arthur shook his head. “Rhaegar only bites what he can chew. He wavered on this for a long time. But now that he has set his plans into motion, he will not stop them.”

“And if he should fail?”

“Then we all lose our heads,” Arthur replied with a quiet voice. “But he will not fail. There is too much at stake for him. For all of us.”

The question was at the tip of his tongue, but Oberyn stopped himself from asking. If the lady was with child, Arthur was not like to confirm it or tell him anything. If she was growing a little dragon in her belly, it would go a long way to consolidate Rhaegar’s power once he took over the realm.

“You have been more receptive than I expected you to be,” Arthur remarked.

Oberyn shrugged at that. “Even someone such as myself who howls in anger and swears vengeance knows when to pause and listen. No man in his right mind will want Aerys to continue his rule of the realm. Not after what he’s done to his own son.” He had seen enough, heard enough to know which side Dorne should be on. He stared at Arthur. “You were there, she said.”

“Aye. I was. I was in the Great Hall when the king told Rhaegar he knew Lady Lyanna had been the one dressed in mismatched armor. And I was there when he threatened her life to him. And I left with him when he went to find her. I was the one to pull the arrow from her body. I was there when she bled out the babe. And I was there while she lingered between life and death. I bore witness to it all.” He swallowed thickly. “This was all of Aerys’s madness come home to roost.”

This was the Sword of the Morning, Oberyn thought, who had forgone his sworn vows to his king to be here by his prince’s side instead. Him and Ser Oswell both. He had no doubt the other men of the Kingsguard would sooner be here with Rhaegar than guarding Aerys. But Arthur’s name alone would carry its own weight. “If calling a Great Council and giving Rhaegar the regency while Aerys still lives is what we must do, then we will. I think it is time for me to take my leave and return to Sunspear. The sooner I speak to my brother, the better.” He rubbed at his chin slowly. “Tell me, are they always like this, those two?”

Arthur chuckled. “Always. It is quite sickening. They are as close as two people can be,” he told him. “And just so you know, Rhaegar _always_ has Dornish wine on hand. He was only having fun at your expense.”

Oberyn had gathered as much. “He was always so humorless. When did he become like this?”

“You exaggerate. He was never humorless. But he has changed. He became like this the day he found there was more to life than the path the world had set him to,” the reply came.


	31. 29: As High As Honor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another visitor arrives in Pentos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I debated long and hard whether I should post this chapter or not. In the end, I decided to go ahead and post it because there were things in it that I would have had to insert elsewhere and it just seemed too much a headache to do that. I hope the chapter is not confusing. If it is, let me know and I will try and fix it.

There was nothing in the world Elbert Arryn had come to hate more than ships and the sea. There was nothing so beautiful as the calm sea at sunsets, when the last light of day shimmered upon its surface. And there was nothing more terrible than when it unleashed its fury.

His crossing had been made of both, shimmering and calm, violent and furious by turn. Elbert had spend half his time retching over the side of the ship and the other half praying the Mother for deliverance, though he was uncertain how quick that deliverance would be. Drowning seemed a terrible fate and like any knight, he would sooner die with sword in hand.

 _I will pay them both in kind for this,_ he had promised himself time and again as he stared at the endless black waters. _I will pay them both in kind,_ he told himself whenever a wave crashed upon the ship, lifting it high, threatening to break it in half. Gods, he hated them both so much in those moments.

When Richard Lonmouth had told him he was sending him to Prince Rhaegar, Elbert thought it was the day-long journey from King’s Landing to Dragonstone. Instead, they had sailed past the prince’s seat and when he had asked the captain why they were not stopping there, the man had given him an odd look, then laughed. “Braavos, first. Pentos after. That’s where His Grace is. In Pentos.”

Why Lonmouth had sent Elbert to Rhaegar Targaryen and why the prince had taken himself all the way to Pentos, he could only imagine. He thought of the rumors he heard in the riverlands: about the prince’s betrothal to Elia Martell coming to and end. He thought of the alleged quarrel Rhaegar had with Aerys following that.

Pentos seemed a far away place for the prince to go if he had any hope to salvage his relationship with his father and his place in the succession. Rhaegar was no longer the sole living child and the sole living son of Aerys Targaryen as he had been for years. He had Viserys as well now. Young as he was, he was a very viable option and the king could afford the disinherit his eldest son if he so wished. His small council was not like to stop him either. They misliked Rhaegar and that, Elbert knew, was no rumor.

Perhaps the prince was visiting his holdings in Essos, he reasoned. Everyone knew Rhaegar had manses and ships and storehouses there. Elbert had recently visited Gulltown and seen with his own eyes how much the operation had grown. The prince employed near three hundred people there alone. And it was not only crews from his ships and he had those in abundance. He employed smiths and woodworkers and shipwrights, seamstresses who mended and sewed sails and cooks who kept everyone fed. He had scribes to keep accounts and schedules and two maesters he had managed to wrestle away from the Citadel for some exorbitant fee to tend to all these people and their families. Marq Grafton oversaw all of this on behalf of his prince, just as Myles Mooton did at Maidenpool and Duskendale and Baelor Hightower did in Oldtown. All young, clever, capable, energetic men. It was all very impressive.

Elbert looked ahead at Ser Oswell Whent and followed him silently inside the manse. Along the walls, torches burned bright and two braziers stood on either sides, both fashioned in the heads of dragons and wolves. He was going to ask about them, but thought better of it. He still recalled that cursed rose pendant that had started him on this journey.

Elbert had been surprised to see Ser Oswell down on the sandy beach, waiting for the rowboat that brought him ashore. He had taken the letter Ser Richard had entrusted him with from Elbert, listened to news of Westeros the captain’s steward delivered. Oswell Whent had studied Elbert’s face with with solemn silence as though he was trying to decide whether he should bring him inside the manse or let him find an inn. In the end, he bid him follow him.

It had been what felt like a hundred steps up from the sands to the smooth high walls and the postern gate. Inside, Ser Arthur Dayne was assigning the guards to their posts for the night. He had looked up at him and frowned.

“Rhaegar?” Ser Oswell had asked.

“Where you left him,” Ser Arthur replied before turning his attentions back to the men standing before him.

Arthur Dayne was Prince Rhaegar’s closest friend. Everyone in the realm knew that. He trusted no one half as much as he trusted the Dornishman. Ser Oswell had always been Rhaegar’s man and if half the gossip was true, he had as much to do with the tourney his brother held at his castle as the prince did. It was passing queer, Elbert thought, all these little kernels of truths they all knew. If one took the time to puzzle all the information floating about, he thought they would have a fairly clear picture of what it was that was really going on.

“Your king is trapped. Death in four,” Elbert Arryn heard the faint voice of a man coming from a room down the hall. And it seemed to him he recognized the iron tones of Rhaegar Targaryen.

Some four weeks since he had set off from King’s Landing inside a crate, he had finally made it. His breeches barely held in place anymore, his sword belt was at the very first hole instead of the third one and he was in need of a good soak in some very hot water to wash this blasted journey from his skin. He also needed a shave and clean clothes. He was in no fit state to meet the prince but he did not think Ser Oswell would care at all.

“I should have you turn out your pockets,” a woman’s voice that he knew replied. Elbert frowned at that, not understanding what Lyanna Stark would be doing here, a world away from Westeros.

He heard a deep laugh then. “Turn out my pockets? This color looks terrible on you, my heart. Unlike you, _I_ do not cheat.”

“It sounds as though you are accusing me of something.”

“I know you added a trebuchet and two crossbowmen when I had my back turned to you. Remember? When you asked me for water? _‘Darling, I am parched,’_ were your exact words, I believe. I also know you ate mushrooms from my plate. You could have gone for the peas, but you went for my favorite thing on the plate instead.”

“I don’t believe you!” Lyanna Stark sounded affronted by that.

“You don’t believe me that you stole my mushrooms or that you added pieces to your board?” the prince asked

“Oh no, I definitely did add pieces to my board, a trebuchet _and_ two crossbowmen. You were enjoying yourself, I was only trying to extend the game a little bit longer is all.”

“Good try, _dearest,_ but I know you and I know when you are lying.” Prince Rhaegar’s voice and Lady Lyanna’s were unmistakable now.

“Gods be good, you can be so unchivalrous at times, husband!”

 _“Husband?”_ What in seven hells, he wondered. He came to an abrupt halt and Ser Oswell turned around and looked at him. “They are married? How? When?” Elbert decided he was back home at Strongsong then, having some very odd dream of being in Pentos and overhearing that Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark were married. He shook his head to clear his mind.

 _No,_ he thought. _This is definitely not Strongsong._

He thought of Brandon and his mad dash to King’s Landing. For what? Had anyone told him of the change in his sister’s marital status? He thought Brandon would have been fuming at this news.

“It is not for me to answer your questions,” the Kingsguard replied. “Please follow me.”

“Unchivalrous?” he heard the prince say. “Your words are a dagger to my heart. I am an anointed knight, I would remind you.”.

“And a great fool, you will also recall,” Lyanna Stark said.

The prince chuckled. “Quite so. Come here, thief.”

“I was not thieving, I was only making an exchange of goods. All I did was _exchange_ peas for mushrooms.”

He heard the prince snort. “I erred. Please forgive me. Of course it was an exchange," the prince replied with a tone dripping with sarcasm. "I must admit my life would be deadly dull if you were not in it. Your boldness still surprises me at times even after all the years that I have known you. Your formation is like you, bold and overbold at times,” the prince was saying. “You always bring your dragons out too early.”

“Wait here,” Oswell Whent said over his shoulder as he entered the room. A large solar, Elbert saw, with a roaring fire in the hearth. Prince Rhaegar had Lyanna Stark on his lap, her face burrowed in the crook of his neck. On a round table were plates of food and what Elbert thought was the game he heard them arguing over. The prince kissed his lady's head and seemed to hug her tighter to him.

The sight of them made him curse Brandon's name and his heedless ride to King’s Landing. If he'd only stopped for a moment and listened to him. Lyanna Stark looked like the furthest thing from someone who had been abducted.

 _Married,_ he reminded himself. Was this it? Had Prince Rhaegar broken his promise to Dorne so that he may marry Lyanna Stark instead? Was this what he was signaling to the realm when he laid that that crown of winter roses upon her lap? Was he telling everyone present that he would take a wife of his choosing?

“Dragons should be able to win the war, Rhaegar, that’s why I bring them out early. If you had dragons now, this very second, would you not use them?” she asked.

Elbert Arryn saw the prince scratch at his head from where he stood. “No. I would not. Dragons are a weapon, Lya. You saw Harrenhal and you have read about the Field of Fire and the Dance of the Dragons. Same as I have,” he said oblivious to the Ser Oswell approaching him. “What good will it be if I turned the realm to ashes and cinders? If I had dragons, they would be the very last resort in a conflict. That’s why I always bring them out last.”

“Rhaegar,” Ser Oswell spoke.

The prince patted his lady’s back and she stood from where she had been sitting and glimpsed him. Her mouth gaped open. “Elbert?”

Prince Rhaegar looked away from Ser Oswell and at him. If he was surprised to see him, nothing showed on his face. He motioned him with his hand to approach as he took the letter from his Kingsguard and broke the seal. “Ser,” he acknowledged him.

Elbert Arryn stepped in and when he neared the prince, he went to one knee. “Your Grace.”

“This is not court, ser.” His eyes flickered from him and back to the letter. “Please do rise.”

“My lady,” he greeted Lyanna.

“This is a surprise,” she said softly. “Did my lord father send you to us? Could he not make it?”

Elbert was moving from one surprise to the other. “Lord Rickard knows you’re here?” he asked her.

“Of course he does,” she replied, frowning. “Marq Grafton delivered my message to him. Have you not seen my father?”

“I have not seen Lord Stark in a long time, my lady.”

“I don’t understand. Were you not at Brandon's wedding?” she asked. Next to her, the prince was scowling. “What’s in the letter, Rhaegar?” He handed her the parchment and she read it once, then a second time as though she was trying to grasp the words in it.

“Your brother went charging in the Red Keep, asking for me to come out and die. Aerys had him arrested and has summoned Lord Rickard to the city to ransom him,” Prince Rhaegar summarized the words that must have been written down. “When did you leave King’s Landing?”

“A little over four weeks past,” Elbert replied and the prince nodded slowly at that, though he looked rather displeased in that moment.

“I don’t understand,” the lady finally said. “Why would Brandon do this?”

“Oswell, can you go to Aera, please? A plate of food for our guest. And a chamber where he may rest after his long journey. And mulled wine. There’s a chill in the air.” Ser Oswell nodded and went on his way while Prince Rhaegar motioned to the padded couch. “Please, have a seat.” Elbert removed his cloak and laid it over the side as the prince moved to a table and poured wine in two cups. One he added water to. He handed Elbert one cup and the watered one he handed to Lyanna Stark. “Here,” he said, “it will help calm your nerves some.”

“My nerves?” she stared at him uncomprehending at first.

“I can see you working yourself up. It’s not good for you,” he replied gently and took a seat beside her.

Elbert Arryn stared at them for half a beat and then cleared his voice. “It started with a rose pendant. One I am sure you are very familiar with,” he said. Lyanna Stark’s neck was not bare, he saw. She was wearing a necklace with the three-headed dragon of Targaryen wrought in red-gold and crusted with rubies and a and a wolf’s head wrought in some sort of steel and crusted with pearls in the center of it. He imagined any child they may have would carry this kind of sigil if they chose to.

Lyanna and Rhaegar looked at each other. "You found my pendant?"

How long had he known Lyanna Stark, Elbert wondered as he stared at her face. The first time he had ever laid eyes on her had been in the stormlands, a year perhaps after she had left Winterfell. He and Brandon had gone to visit her at Amberly. She had been a pretty girl, long-faced, grey-eyed, sweet to look upon, with so much energy. There was nothing she did not want to learn and nothing she did not want to try and Brandon had indulged her every whim. It was hard not to when she looked at them with pleading eyes. That girl had been fond of breeches and oversized tunics and braids. This one was wearing a silver-grey cotton dress with a dark blue trim. There was a rust-colored velvet ribbon in her hair with wild flowers embroidered into it. She lifted herself off the couch and tucked her legs beneath her.

Brandon lamented that his little sister as he knew her was gone, yet Elbert saw her still. He could still see some of that girl in her, as she fidgeted nervously with one of her sleeves. He saw that girl when she raced that horse of hers at Harrenhal with reckless abandon and he saw her whenever she had smiled or laughed. He saw her when she picked up a tourney sword and beat her youngest brother into the ground.

Plus her eyes were as soft as ever, and her voice was as sweet to the ear as ever. She had aged as they all eventually did. The pretty girl he had first met had grown into a beautiful woman. A woman the crown prince had seemed to be quite taken with during the tourney.

Elbert, like half the realm had turned a blind eye to the prince’s obliviousness to Elia Martell, had ignored those eyes that always lingered far too long on Lyanna Stark. He did not know why the prince laying the crown of winter roses upon the lady’s lap had shocked him and everyone sitting in those stands. _Willfully blind,_ he surmised, _that’s what we all were._ Brandon and Ned and Robert and himself.

 _Choosing to ignore what’s staring you in the face doesn’t make it go away,_ he reminded himself.

There was a time Elbert thought Lyanna Stark might be his wife. As the heir to the Vale of Arryn, he had his pick and choice of maidens. But he thought his uncle was intent on a match between House Arryn and House Stark to further cement the relationship between them. It felt like a natural progression of things if anything. But his uncle seemed to like the notion of a marriage between House Stark and House Baratheon better. Jon Arryn had always loved Robert Baratheon more than he loved his own blood and nephew in any case.

To put it plainly, Elbert could never stand the storm lord. He did not like him nor could he comprehend his appeal. He did not understand the women who so very willingly spread their legs for him and he did not understand the men who flocked to him and laughed at his terrible jests, nodded their heads in approval at his less than honorable behavior.

He had been there at the opening feast, he had seen those hands wander where they should not have wandered when he danced with his betrothed. Elbert had been chatting with Oberyn Martell about the advantages of a sword versus a spear when he saw it. He had moved to cut in but Arthur Dayne had appeared at her shoulder and saved her from further embarrassment. Or saved Robert from embarrassment, but that behavior was the run of the mill for the Lord of Storm’s End. “Someone will hopefully put him back in his place, someday,” he had muttered under his breath before his eyes found his uncle who had been looking on disapprovingly.

There were times his uncle despaired of Robert. Jon Arryn would always look disapprovingly on his behavior, chastise him over it for less than a heartbeat, then laugh with him wholeheartedly as though nothing had happened. And Robert would go on, behaving like the git that he was.

Elbert knew from an early age that his uncle cared little and less about him. Jon Arryn had always misliked House Belmore, Elbert’s lady mother’s family, for a start. His uncle had not fostered him at the Eyrie, nor had he named him Knight of the Bloody Gate, a position his lord father had held before his untimely death. Instead, Elbert had been foisted on this House or that one after his mother had died. He had not cared for at all. He knew early on not to count on a man who treated his own blood with so little care. “He is trying to build your character is all,” his lord grandsire had said to him once.

It had come as no surprise to Elbert when he found out the storm lord had entered marriage negotiations with the Warden of the North. He had met the news with disappointment, nonetheless. He would be a liar if he said his uncle’s support of his ward had not cut him deeply. It was like that time, some years past when Robert had fucked a girl Elbert had liked because he had made the mistake of speaking of her within his hearing.

Elbert had always been fond of Lyanna Stark and Brandon was a very close friend. Now, though, looking at her and the prince, Elbert felt he had avoided something akin of a personal disaster. A marriage to her would never have worked or been happy while she had already decided and chosen where her life would lie.  

Mostly, though, he looked forward to seeing his uncle and Robert Baratheon’s discomfited faces when they found out about this. There would be no marriage, and all for the good. Robert did not deserve a woman such as her. He did not think anything could cheer him up after the abysmal journey he had had but this made him positively gleeful. He never knew he could feel so vindictive. But there it was.

“My lord,” Elbert looked at Rhaegar, “I have to ask what happened that you are both here?”

“It’s a rather long story,” the prince replied. “I don’t even know where to begin anymore.”

Rhaegar Targaryen may not have known where to begin, but Lyanna Stark did. She opened her mouth and a torrent of words came out. She talked about the Wall and meeting the prince at Summerhall, the time they had spent at King’s Landing, the marriage which shockingly had taken place before the events of Duskendale, the time they had spent on Dragonstone. The more she talked, the more things fell into place for him, the rumors, the truth, all the embellishments.

He remembered the recent talk in the riverlands about a Great Council and he recalled the conversation he’d had with his uncle after the tourney at Harrenhal when he had urged him to make contact with Prince Rhaegar. If the rumors that he sought to remove his father from power and put the realm under regency were true, then he would need staunch allies. His uncle had reminded him of their House words instead.

“Where is the honor in letting Aerys carry on, sitting the Iron Throne, passing judgement, burning people, when there is someone more than capable of ruling the realm waiting in the wings?” he had asked his uncle. “You said so yourself after Duskendale, that he would make a great king someday.”

“Aye. I said that and my mind has not changed. And I also said someday. He will await his turn just as every prince before him has awaited his,” his uncle had replied. “There’s a will of iron beneath that mild-mannered exterior. If Rhaegar decided to push his father aside, he will not need the Vale to do it or anyone for that matter. And it is up to him to ask for help, not for us to go sniffing around him and commit treason. It is Aerys we are are sworn to, not his son. It matters not that you want it to be otherwise.”

Elbert had left the Vale angry that his uncle would not bestir himself. He had seen Aerys at Harrenhal, same as everyone else had. He had heard him threaten the life of that mystery knight. He remembered how Robert Baratheon had stood and promised to unhorse the lad without a second thought that the boy's life could well be forfeit.

“Aerys found out I had dressed as the mystery knight and sent sellswords after me,” Lyanna was saying. “Rhaegar and everyone else arrived in time and made short work of those men, but I was severely injured.”

More shocked, Elbert Arryn could not have been as he stared at her wide-eyed. What he had told Brandon about his sister entering the lists had been said in jest.

This all sounded like the height of madness. Who is the world put a bounty on the life of a girl of six-and-ten? And for what? And there he thought a secret wedding bordered on lunacy.

“Did you leave your cloak behind?” he asked, remembering what that girl from the Peach had told them.

“My cloak? What cloak?” she asked confused.

“The one you were wearing on the night you were attacked. Was the cloak left where the fight happened?”

A pretty serving girl with Lysene looks to her put a plate of food in front of him and poured mulled wine for all of them before she picked up the plates from the round table and took her leave. He could smell the honey and the orange zest and the cloves and cinnamon and other spices wafting up from his cup. And he was famished, dying for food that was not salt beef and apples. Across from him, Ser Oswell pulled up a chair and sat. Ser Arthur followed in the room and stood by the hearth, warming his hands.

Prince Rhaegar scrubbed his face with one hand and stood. “Gods be damned,” he muttered under his breath. “Gods be damned,” he repeated with a bitter chuckle. “Every time I think the situation is finally in hand, something utterly ridiculous happens.” He turned to Lyanna. “Your cloak was bloodied and sodden from the snow. I put you in my spare one and forgot to take your soiled one. I was not thinking.”

“There were more pressing matters at the time. Lyanna was injured and losing blood, Oswell was injured. It was snowing heavily and a ride that should have taken us an hour at the most, took us three. There were moments _I_ did not think we would make it to Harrenhal. None of us could think straight after the days of misery we had after we set out from the Red Keep to find her,” Ser Arthur said, gazing at the prince. “Done is done.”

“I should have sent someone to sweep the area, make sure we did not leave anything behind.”

“It would not have mattered anyway,” Elbert said. He took a slice of meat to his mouth and chewed it, slowly, savoring the flavor. He thought he might cry it tasted so good.

“Why not?” the prince asked.

“The person we met heard screams and the clash of swords. When things quieted down, she went to see what had happened and found the sellswords dead and the bloodied cloak,” he explained. “A whore from the Peach. At Stoney Sept.”

Lyanna raised an eyebrow at him and sipped slowly at her mulled wine. “The Peach,” she said flatly.

“Brandon wanted us to rendez-vous there,” Elbert replied. “I arrived in the morning with Kyle Royce and Jeffory Mallister. We were breaking our fast when Bran saw the girl. She was serving at the tables when he noticed the necklace she was wearing about her neck. He recognized it as yours. Things went to seven hells _very quickly_ after that.”

He stared at the prince. “I’m assuming it was a gift from you, Your Grace?” he asked and Rhaegar nodded at that. “Brandon confronted the girl over it. He accused her of stealing it. He threatened to have her hanged, scared her half to death. He became enraged when he saw the wolf and the dragon’s heads in the back of that petal. He lost it when he saw the glyphs.” He took another bite from his food, chewed and swallowed before he spoke again. “With the story the girl gave us of finding your cloak and dead men in the woods and happening upon the necklace later during her journey to Stoney Sept, Brandon became convinced that you had been kidnapped by the prince.”

“I understand that Brandon Stark was incensed by what happened at Harrenhal, but why would he  _ever_  believe I took his sister against her will?” the prince asked with shock in his voice.

He explained to them Brandon’s illogical reasoning. “After that, he would not listen to what I had to say to him. He had his horse saddled. I tried to stop him. But by the time my own horse was saddled and I was ready to leave, he had already gone, headed toward King’s Landing. Brandon is one of the best horsemen that I know. I sent Kyle Royce and Ethan Glover north to the causeway to intercept Lord Rickard and deliver a letter informing him of what had transpired. If the gods are good, they have not been eaten by lizard lions. Jeffory Mallister, I sent to Lord Hoster. I rode to King’s Landing, but was never able to catch up to Brandon. Richard Lonmouth stopped me before I arrived at the Red Keep and informed me that Brandon had been arrested and taken before the king.”

“And your uncle, you sent no one to him?” Ser Arthur asked.

Elbert shrugged at that. “My uncle never concerned himself with my whereabouts.” _My uncle does not care what happens to me. He has the Darling of the Vale waiting in the wings._ He said none of that, though.

Lyanna Stark rose to her feet. She looked stressed and upset by all this. “I cannot believe him. Brandon and Aerys,” she spoke. “The one time your father decides that he cares enough about you. It’s like Tywin Lannister convincing him that you should not marry me all over again.” Her tone was a bitter one. “What will we do?”

Rhaegar sighed and held his hand out to her. She took it and he pulled her gently to him. “Nothing right now.” He cupped her face. “There is nothing to be done but wait to see how this goes. This news is stale. Lord Rickard said he was timing his journey to the riverlands to within a week of your brother’s wedding. If he held himself to that and received the summons, then he will be nearing King’s Landing now. And that’s if he rode hard, but he will have a retinue traveling with him, which will slow down his progress. For all that he may already have ransomed your brother.”

Lyanna shook her head. “Your father is unpredictable. My brother threatened your life. And what if Aerys decides to take the anger he feels toward me out on them? What then? He could kill them and we will find out weeks after it happened.”

“We wait, Lyanna. This is the only option we have . . . for now. And we continue preparing to take the Red Keep and King’s Landing.”

“I don’t know about this, Rhaegar. This . . . this is not a game of cyvasse.”

“And I am well aware of that. But I cannot go charging in the Red Keep like an auroch in a pottery shop, Lya. We still have to be cautious about the way we handle this.” He was looking at her intently. “I doubt Aerys will do them harm. Lord Stark is not some commoner the king can tie up and burn. He is the Warden of the North and Brandon is his heir. The small council will be forced to stand up to Aerys if they don’t wish for war. At worst, they will both be valuable hostages. Your lord father was intent on calling the banners to deal with the ironborn once and for all. It may be knowledge of this will stay my father’s hand. The king fears the northmen and if Lord Rickard has called the banners, then it will take them less time to assemble and march than if it was done a moon’s turn from now. The idea that they could sweep down on him may be enough to stop him doing something foolish.”

“ You don’t understand . . .”

Rhaegar dropped his hands to his side and stared at her. “Then I wish you would explain it to me, whatever this thing is that I don’t understand. I sleep beside you, Lyanna. I know you have been plagued with nightmares of late.”

“They are nothing you are not already aware of.” She paused. “All of this is making me ill with worry.” She clutched at her belly and Rhaegar led her to a chair where she sat.

The prince did not seem to believe her, but he did not press her further. He turned to Elbert. “Tell me, ser, your uncle. Would he stand with us if it came to it?”

Elbert shook his head at that. “I don’t know. Lord Stark being involved in this may serve as an impetus for him. He was not keen on any of it after Harrenhal. But if he decides to stay out of it, I can deliver you the support of Runestone, Strongsong and Ironoaks for a certainty. I am sure between Marq Grafton and myself, we can give you half of the Vale.” It would mean a possible war between Valemen, something Elbert was not keen on. He had friends and kinsmen in every House.

Prince Rhaegar seemed to read his mind. “It need not come to war. What I want is take my father in hand and call a Great Council. All I need is their voices, not their life’s blood. Aerys, it may not be very long before his madness overtakes him completely and when that happens, we will all be in danger. You, myself, my wife. Them,” he pointed at Ser Arthur and Ser Oswell. “All of us, really. There may be war then and I would like to avoid it.”  

“You should know my uncle is very fond of Robert Baratheon and neither will be happy with this marriage.” He waved his hand between Lyanna and Rhaegar. “I know Robert would sooner see you dead than ever give you his support for anything once he finds this out. He cursed your name at every turn while we traveled to Gulltown after the tourney.”

“I am not expecting his support,” Prince Rhaegar replied. “But Robert Baratheon knows that his betrothal with Lyanna is ended.”

Elbert frowned. “Since when? If Robert knows his betrothal is ended, then I can assure you he has not breathed a word of it to my uncle. Last I saw the great oaf, he was at a tavern boasting about how he was going to wed her and fuck her and plant his seed between her legs. _His_ words. Not mine. ”

“Whatever Robert has been boasting about, he is lying.” Elbert saw anger flash in Lyanna’s grey eyes. “He will _never_ crawl between these legs. My lord father sent him a raven not a fortnight after the tourney at Harrenhal to put an end to that farce of a betrothal. In fact, he sent two ravens to the Vale. One for Ned and one for Robert. Rhaegar and I both saw the messages off.”

Elbert shrugged. “Did he write about your marriage?”

“Of course not. My father wanted to tell Robert and my brothers when he saw them at Riverrun. He never liked entrusting sensitive information to ravens.”

“Either he did not receive this message, or he chose to ignore the words altogether,” Elbert said. That would be typical behavior from Robert. Ignoring the things that were unpleasant to him.

“Did you see Ned?”

“Aye. I saw Ned. He stopped by Strongsong on his way to the Eyrie and I saw him again at the Gates of the Moon before I set off for the riverlands. Your brother was making plans to return to Winterfell after you married Robert.”

“I find it interesting that these ravens bearing messages about betrothals keep vanishing,” Ser Oswell said looking at the couple. “It is easy to receive a missive, put it in the hearth and claim the raven was lost.”

“Ned would never do such a thing,” Lyanna defended her brother. “If he knew he would not be making plans to attend a wedding that will never happen. This is madness. Do you think Robert got a hold of Ned’s letter?”

Would Robert steal a letter from his dear friend Ned? Elbert had to wonder. “I don’t know. He had opportunity, certainly. Maester Ellery always puts my correspondence on the desk in my apartments whenever I visited my uncle’s keep. Robert returned to the Eyrie, Ned was at Runestone until Brandon left for Gulltown to take ship.”

“We will deal with this once we are in Westeros. At least we have an idea what to expect,” Prince Rhaegar said. “I know he is your brother’s nearest and dearest friend, but I’d sooner you don’t go near him, Lya.”

“I’d sooner not breathe the same air as he,” she replied quickly.

Prince Rhaegar nodded. “In the meantime, I think I will go down to the harbor, see what news. When do you plan on returning to Westeros?” he asked Elbert.

“I think I would like to stay, Your Grace, until you leave that is.” He stood from where he had been sitting, unsheathed his sword. Oswell Whent stood from his chair and Ser Arthur moved faster than anyone he had ever seen. But Prince Rhaegar raised his hand to make his men stand down, but not before he moved in front of his wife to shield her with his body.

Elbert knelt before Rhaegar Targaryen and laid the sword he had unsheathed at his feet. “I would pledge you my sword, Your Grace. I would swear my fealty to you. If you would have me.”

“Arise, ser,” Rhaegar Targaryen bid him and when he did, the prince presented his hand to him and Elbert shook it.

His uncle may not have wanted to bestir himself, but Elbert would not sit on his arse and wait to see how this thing played out. He would serve the prince because there was honor in serving a man who wanted better for the realm. And if he met a traitor’s death, then he would meet it happily knowing he had served a man he believed worthy and that he lived by his House’s words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter titles;  
> Chapter 30; The Hand of the King (The POV on this one has already changed 3 times, so we'll see when it will be posted)  
> Chapter 31; Shattering of the Peace (Very early stages of writing)  
> Chapter 32; Beloved (This one is written, but will need a lot of editing once 30 and 31 are finally written)
> 
> Comments do feed my muse, although she's doing rather well (surprising. I thought I'd be a dry well by now). Comments usually make me open my document and write. And if I can put out a 6,000 word chapter for a character who has two whole lines and mentions in ASOIAF, I know you can spare two minutes and leave a comment. Don't be lazies. I promise chapters 31 and 32 will make it worth your while :)


	32. 30: The Devil You Know

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter was originally titled "The Hand of the King," but POV change (like 4 times) also meant a title change.

There were so many things to do and so much to deal with. Jon Connington frowned as he stood in the middle of the Hall of Lamps, unsure which of the altars he should visit first. His eyes fell upon the Mother. He tucked his hand in the left pocket of his white and red doublet and felt for the cold gem there. He pulled it out, a ruby as big as his fingertip, red as blood, flashing like fire in the light. It had been cut from a larger one, for the sword Tobho Mott was making for Rhaegar. Jon knew his prince would not object to this offering. Slowly and with measured steps, he walked up to Mother’s altar and deposited the jewel in her outstretched hand.

“Mother, font of mercy.” He went to his knees and began to pray.

“There is talk down in the city that Robert Baratheon has accused Rhaegar of the abduction and rape of Lyanna Stark,” Jaime Lannister had said to him indignantly after he had returned from Flea Bottom a week past. “I really despise the man.”

 _Aye, Robert Baratheon is hateful,_ Jon had almost replied. _Yet your lord father is looking to him as a suitor for that equally hateful sister of yours now that the realm knows this truth that Robert refuses to listen to._

Robert Baratheon was welcome to the Lannister girl. If the gods were good, she would kill him as she had tried to kill Lyanna Stark. Twice.

Cersei Lannister had taken a blade to the cinch belt of his lady’s horse saddle. One of the stable boys had seen her creep into Comet's stall with a dirk and heard the sound of metal on leather. She had crept out of there sometime later. When the boy had failed to find the prince, he had gone to Jon. He had reported the incident for no other reason than that Lyanna of Winterfell had always been good to him. She had even given him coin and sent one of Pycelle’s acolytes to visit the boy’s mother after he mentioned in passing to her she had taken ill. It was a meaningless action for her, but one that had meant the world to the boy. “And Prince Rhaegar is fond of my good Lady of Stark. I think he would be upset if anything bad happened to her,” the stable boy had explained to him nervously.

Rhaegar had gone to the stables after that to see Cersei Lannister's handy work for himself. Lyanna rode her horse so recklessly and with such speed that the odds of the belt breaking at some point was inevitable, and the odds of her being tossed from her mare had been excellent and if it happened, she would surely have broken her neck and died or broken her back and never walked again.

The second attempt had been a black scorpion in her bed. _Gold buys the foulest of things,_ Jon remembered thinking. A servant had seen the girl come out of Lyanna Stark’s chambers with a man she did not recognize. Rhaegar had been alarmed enough to go and search out his lady's bedchamber. It had been by chance that he had seen something move beneath the thin bedsheet.

Shortly after the incident, the Princess of Dorne had come calling to the Red Keep, to negotiate her daughter’s marriage to the Prince of Dragonstone. Jon often wondered if the scorpion in the sheets was not designed so that the blame would fall on the Dornish.

Intent on ridding herself of Lyanna Stark and Elia Martell Cersei Lannister may have been, but that act had been a terrible miscalculation on her part. Lady Cersei was not near as clever as she thought she was. The information on the Princess of Dorne's visit could have only come from Lord Tywin or Pycelle. One could not take no for an answer, the other was a roach. Rhaegar had mistrusted Tywin Lannister even more after that, could not stand to be in the same room as him any longer.

And this was not even mentioning the very first incident with the potion Rhaegar had seen Cersei upend in Lyanna’s cup. That had been shortly after she had come from Amberly to attend Queen Rhaella. Cersei had been forced to drink it and had spent three days sleeping by the privy.

After all that, Rhaegar had gone to Dragonstone and Lyanna had followed him there shortly thereafter and remained there even as Rhaella had returned to King's Landing. Within the confines of the Rhaegar's stronghold there had been no more incidents or attempts. But Rhaegar promised he would pay back the Lady Cersei. He knew some dark secret about the so-called Light of the West and the Young Lion that would besmirch Lord Tywin and bring immense shame to House Lannister. He would not share what he knew, though, nor would he use the information against her. Ser Jaime had been staunch in his support for Rhaegar and served him faithfully at the risk of his own person. Rhaegar would not bring the boy down to teach his twin sister a lesson.

“No one is like to believe a single word out of Robert Baratheon’s drunken, lying mouth. I was there with others when Rhaegar married Lady Lyanna. I bore witness to their union. There are documents that prove the claim." Robert Baratheon ought to be put down and Jon would kill him himself if he could. The man had proved a bigger nuisance than he was worth. And it did not seem Jon Arryn had any kind of control over his ward.

This was what his days and nights had been made of. Asinine rumors and a king who had lost his mind. Jon Connington had come to appreciate even more the way Rhaegar had handled his father all these years before he had finally washed his hands off him. Aerys was _exhausting._ There were days he was pleasant and rational, his decision-making as sound as any. If someone had told him the king was mad, he would not have believed them.

And then there were all the other days, the ones everyone in the Red Keep was wary and weary of. Those days were made of yelling and burning and raping. Aerys would rant for hours on end about his faithless wife, her broken womb and her uncharacteristic outburst over the withering letter Rhaegar had sent where he had practically accused his father of kinslaying. Jon had been absent from King’s Landing, but he knew what had been in that letter and he had been filled in on what happened in that council chamber.

And this had largely contributed to the foul mood in the lower city and in the Red Keep. Jon overheard servants bemoaning what had happened to the prince and his lady wife. Jon had been down to Flea Bottom twice since he had returned to King’s Landing. The talk about the events that had unfolded on Aegon’s High Hill had stroked resentment and there was no lack of hatred toward Aerys. And like an untreated wound, all of this was festering and going to rot. It made the city feel like a tinderbox ready to explode. And if it did Jon did not know where that spark would come from.

There was much and more to do and Jon Connington had no need for more headaches as he thought of the letter Aerys had sent to the Vale over a moon's turn past, summoning Lord Stark’s middle son to the Red Keep to do him fealty. He hoped the boy had enough sense to remain where he was. If he came, Robert Baratheon would follow him, Jon did not doubt. But that one would come to complain about a woman he swears was stolen from him by Rhaegar. 

He heard quiet footsteps behind him, slippered feet, sliding on the marble, just as he was facing the altar of the Warrior. He clenched both fists before he lit his candle and went down to his knees once more. He bowed his head and said his prayer. This one was for his prince just as the prayer to the Mother had been for his little lady. Beyond, he could see the first light of dawn. He stood, turned around and found Varys standing there, dressed in rags, awaiting his pleasure. He sighed inwardly and stared across the hall at the Crone with her raised lamp.

 _What a jape,_ he thought. The Spider was not what he wanted, nor expected when he prayed to her for wisdom and guidance. Yet, there he was, the Lord of Whisperers, dressed in rags and filthy as though he had been rolling around in a pigsty.  The stench of him made Jon Connington fit to gag.

 _What am I doing,_ he wondered once more. He did not know what Rhaegar would say if he knew Jon was working with Varys. But Rhaegar was finalizing his plans and Jon was trying to buy him as much time as he possibly could.

Sometimes, even the most honest men had to throw their lot in with those they despised to see their plans to fruition. This seemed the easiest way to serve Rhaegar, though the eunuch made the hairs in the back of Jon’s neck rise. Jon shared none of his information with Varys. He knew the eunuch could turn on him at any moment but he would see him dead if he got so much as a whiff of treason or suspected that he was being conned.

They had all been dancing on rotten ice for so long now that this made no matter to him any longer. It was his own life Jon was bargaining with. He did not trust the eunuch as far as he could throw him. Outside of the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, the Spider was the only one who tried to dissuade Aerys away from his worst instincts. Jon was scraping the bottom of the barrel when it came to allies.

Varys had come to Griffin’s Roost shortly before he had received King Aerys’s summons to come to King’s Landing to serve him as Hand. He had been the one to suggest his name and convince the king to give him the chain of office. It had been something of a shock to see the Spider at his doorstep, asking for an audience. Jon had refused him at first, but thought better of it afterward. “Lord Chelsted has met an unfortunate end,” he had said to him. There was no worse death than one by fire, Jon always thought. There was no mercy in it. Try as he might, though, Jon could not find it in him to feel sorry for the man. He had made his bed long ago and thought himself untouchable, one of Aerys’s favorites.

But in Aerys’s court, there were no favorites. There were only men who competed for his favor. Aerys could be fond of someone one second and loathe them and name them a traitor the very next one. He could laugh with someone for a short moment and want them dead the following one. Aerys had men who flattered him and agreed with everything he said. The king could raise a man high, they said. But they forgot he could bring that same man down as well. In rather spectacular fashion.

No one was untouchable in his court. This was a lesson the lord of mace-and-dagger had failed to understand. No one was safe from him. Not even his own blood. The king had raised his hand to his wife, his son. Rhaella could not escape from him and his unwanted attentions and Rhaegar had been on the receiving end of verbal abuse and belittling for sometime. Since Aerys had returned from Duskendale, Rhaegar had lived in fear for his little wife’s life. Even the child that had been growing in her belly had not been safe from the Mad King.

People in the Red Keep were treading more carefully than ever. The majority of them longed for their prince’s return. And this was all for the good.

“What do you want?” Jon asked Varys. He looked one last time at the altars of the gods before they walked away from the Hall of Lamps. Varys opened the door to the lower level, where the ashes of Targaryen kings had been laid to rest.

“Lucerys Velaryon has resigned his office. He pleads grief,” the spider said.

 _Aye. Grief,_ he nearly snorted, but he shrugged instead. Jon already knew this was coming. Both Velaryon’s sons, the heir to Driftmark and the bastard boy, had been taken from their father. Rhaegar had sailed to Braavos when he found out the Master of Ships and his sons were on their way there and done the deed himself. The boys had known him and he had not wanted them frightened. The lads would be returned to their father once this sorry business with Aerys was over and done with.

This would not go down as Rhaegar’s most honorable deed, nor his finest hour for having to resort to such tactics, but Lucerys Velaryon had to be removed as Master of Ships and from his position on the small council and nothing would have made him budge like his sons becoming hostages for his cooperation and good behavior. Velaryon had been one of Aerys’s staunchest supporters and an important piece on the board.

Never in their wildest dreams did any of them think they would resort to taking innocent children away from their father.

Jon would draw up a list of names for the king’s consideration, names he was certain the king would reject. Master of Ships was a position that had been held by the Velaryons since Lord Daemon Velaryon had served under the Conqueror. But the more obstinate Aerys became, the longer Jon would have control over the royal fleet.

Most of the royal fleet was at anchor in Blackwater Bay and Rhaegar’s warships, thirty in total had started making their way from the Honeywine, Lys and Braavos to start forming a blockade. Half of the Redwyne fleet would join them. Once the blockade was in place, no ships would be able to enter or exit the Gullet.

This was all precaution. Jon and Rhaegar himself doubted they would need any of this as the plan was to take the city from the inside, not the outside. 

“How did it come to this?” Rhaegar had asked when last he’d seen him. He looked like someone who had lost control over his life and had been overtaken by these terrible things that had happened. He looked as though he would drown. His wife had been in the throes of a fever the maester did not believe she could beat. She had just miscarried the babe she did not even know existed. It felt as though it had been all too much for one person to bear.

It had taken Jon a while to come to terms with Lyanna Stark. He had known the girl since she had come to Cape Wrath. He had a certain fondness for her, he readily admitted to himself. His lord father had been fast friends with Lord Harrold Rogers of Amberly which meant there were frequent visits. And his mother who had been such a proper lady was more than fond of the girl, something that had always baffled Jon. Lyanna Stark was flippant, heedless, rash. Wild. She did not behave like the sort of girl who was born from the oldest blood of Westeros or grew up in a castle. She behaved like the sort of girl who might have grown up dockside instead.  

And she was not the sort of girl a prince of the blood, let alone the crown prince should _ever_ fall in love with. Lyanna Stark had been no proper lady and Rhaegar Targaryen wanted none but her. She had stepped into his life and Jon had seen his prince become mesmerized by her. And for a while, whatever fondness Jon Connington had had for her had turned into resentment for the girl’s mere existence. And it was not because he believed or thought or even hoped that his silver prince would ever see him as anything more than a friend and companion. Jon knew his place in Rhaegar’s life and he knew what the lines he could never cross were. He had never spoken of his feelings to anyone, though Lyanna Stark had instinctively known. She had never been unkind to him or felt the need to belittle the love he bore his prince. It was all so odd, this situation he had found himself in.

He was not certain when he had stopped resenting her. Perhaps it was when he saw Rhaegar’s smile and heard his laughter. Maybe it was the day he realized how happy she made him. Her feelings were genuine and true. Lyanna Stark did not care for a crown or being called ‘Your Grace.’ She loved Rhaegar in the way a man such as he deserved to be loved. She was there through every up and down, through the successes, the failures and everything in between. Rhaegar called her his rock and Jon could see why.

By the time the tourney at Storm’s End had come around, Jon had accepted that Lyanna Stark had become the most important person in Rhaegar’s life. He had been there on the Isle of Faces the day they married before that smiling weirwood. On that isle, Jon had finally made his peace with what Rhaegar wanted for himself.

When he thought she might die, he felt as though he was losing his obnoxious little sister. It had struck him then, how much had changed between them when he saw her lying unconscious in that bed that had seemed far too large for her slight frame. It looked as though it would swallow her whole she had looked so lost in it. 

Lyanna was never still and she was never quiet and even when he knew her as a girl at Amberly, she had been larger than life. He had taken her into his life and embraced her as his family and it had been difficult to accept that she could die. It had been a disconcerting notion. It had not helped any that the chamber she was resting in had been so uncomfortably silent, so uncomfortably still, the very air in it so thick with grief as Rhaegar sat there, wordless, holding on to her hand. Jon had leaned over her before taking his leave and whispered in her ear, “If you can hear me, don’t you dare die on him.” He had prayed for her at the sept of Harrenhal and at the sept of Griffin’s Roost. He had lit candles to the Mother and prayed for her mercy.

“Must you go on hating me, my lord?” Varys asked. “You and I are on the same side. We want the same thing.”

“I will never stop hating you. _You_ are the reason we are in this mess,” Jon replied. “What did Lyanna Stark ever do to you that you would give her up to Aerys with no care for her life?” he asked. He had been curious about this since Varys had darkened his doorstep. The eunuch never struck him as someone who was inherently cruel. Yet revealing that Lyanna had been the mystery knight had been a vicious and calculated move.

“To me, nothing. But His Grace expected me to find out who the mystery knight was.”

Jon Connington shook his head. “Pray, my lord, what did you think His Grace would do after he found out the identity of this person? Someone has donned an armor and entered the lists as a mystery knight at every tourney I have ever attended.”

“Simon Toyne . . .”

“Spare me your lies and falseness, Lord Varys. You would have me believe you were trying to protect Prince Rhaegar and King Aerys from Lyanna Stark? Simon Toyne was an exception, not the rule. If you want this partnership to work, then I will have the truth from you or they will find you dead come morning. And I can assure you no one will mourn your loss.”

Lord Varys sighed. “It was a regrettable error, my lord. I made an error in judgement. I never meant for the girl to come to harm.”

Jon resisted rolling his eyes at that. He did not believe his hatred for the eunuch would ever taper. “What did you mean then? For Rhaegar to be caught in this and lose his head? You are neither blind nor stupid,” he said, “you may not have known Prince Rhaegar was married to Lady Lyanna, but you knew he loved her. Anyone with half the wits the gods gave a turnip and who was not busy listening to Cersei Lannister spinning her tales could see it. You used my lady as a pawn in your despicable game.”

Varys stared at him for a long minute before he spoke. “Lyanna Stark is the kind of person I wished I had in my corner, protecting me, defending me, fighting for me when I was a boy in Myr, after I had been cut and left to fend for myself. I admire her courage and I admire what she did. She is a brave woman. Most people would not care.”

“Yet you sold her out.”

“I did. Please do not believe for an instant that I am not ashamed of it. Your silver prince was plotting to remove his father from the throne. Rickard Stark was planning on marrying his heir to the Tully girl. He meant to make his daughter the lady of Storm’s End. His middle son was fostered at the Vale of Arryn. I could not allow these people to come together. Such a coalition at Prince Rhaegar’s back would have spelled the end for Aerys and his reign. I wanted him to disown his eldest and name his youngest as his heir and successor.”

Jon Connington stared at the eunuch in disbelief and for half a heartbeat, he saw himself grabbing the man and snapping his neck. They had stopped walking and were now standing by Aegon the Unlikely’s tomb. He had died at Summerhall just as Rhaegar was being born. Rhaegar had grown up with the shadow of this king's deeds looming large over him.

By the golden plate that bore King Aegon’s name were flowers. They had been there a while, Jon judged by their now brown color. Rhaegar was the one who came down here and he was the one who always left flowers. 

Rhaegar Targaryen had survived Summerhall when many others did not. He was meant to live that day and he was meant to ascend the Iron Throne and rule the Seven Kingdoms. But nothing had come easy thus far. It had been a struggle. Every time he thought the Great Council was within his grasp, things went awry. It had started at Harrenhal and ill luck had followed from there.

 _No, not ill luck,_ he regarded the man standing beside him, studying the tombs silently as though he was seeing them for the first time. _Him._ This _mummer_ had countered their plans at every turn. He was always a step ahead of them. For the life of him, Jon could not figure out how he had found out about Harrenhal, how he knew about Lyanna. Although knowing her, she may not have been as careful as she thought she was. “How did you know it was her?” he asked.

“One of my little birds saw her saving that boy from the Neck from those three squires who were attacking him. He reported back to me. I did not think much of it at the feast when I saw her pointing the knights to her brothers. But when the mystery knight entered the lists and challenged those same men, I looked to the stands and saw she was missing. The small stature, the way she rode her horse, I have seen her practice at quintain thousands of times. I had one of my little birds follow her. They stayed in the godswood long enough to see her remove her helm. I was never going to reveal her identity. It became a necessity after the letter from Doran Martell came. Prince Rhaegar named Lyanna Stark his queen of love and beauty. It was only a matter of time before he made the girl his wife.”

“So you sent sellswords after her?”

“No. Never. I was only going to have her taken in the riverlands and held for ransom . . .”

“Oh, was that all? You were only going to have her abducted and ransomed back.” Jon could not even begin to imagine how sick with worry Rhaegar would have been. And for all that, the truth about the marriage may have come out in that moment.

Varys pursed his lips. “It was meant to stall the marriages and Rhaegar's plans. Once Aerys named Viserys his heir, Rhaegar’s cause would have been doomed. It would not have mattered how much the realm loved the prince. Once Rhaegar was removed as heir apparent, he would have been done politically in Westeros. Your prince may hate his father, but he loves his little brother.” He paused. “I found out about the sellswords and what Aerys had done in the Great Hall at the same time as everyone else who had been present there. I tried to convince His Grace to call his men off afterward, but he would not listen to anything I had to say. Prince Rhaegar climbing the steps to the Iron Throne and the argument that followed sealed Lady Lyanna’s fate. Aerys raged for days and days after his son had departed the Red keep.”

He could believe that Aerys had taken none of what happened well. But Varys had miscalculated because of the things he did not know. Rhaegar had been at Winterfell and Lord Stark knew his daughter was the prince’s wife. If she had gone missing, the blame would have fallen squarely on Aerys’s shoulders. He would never have been able to resist telling his son what he knew. He would have made sure Rhaegar knew he held Lyanna's life between his hands. If Lyanna had gone missing as Varys had wanted her to, Rhaegar would have blamed his father and may have gone as far as to remove him from the throne by force. “Do you hate Prince Rhaegar so much? What has he done to deserve your scorn. Why is it that you think Aerys is a better choice for the Seven Kingdoms than he?"

The Spider shook his head slowly. “No, my lord. You mistake me. I do not hate your prince. I bear him no ill will. He has never done me harm, though I know he hates me for the things I whisper to his lord father. I am not blind, I know he is a good man and I believe he can do great things for the realm. But Rhaegar Targaryen is also a dangerous man.”

Jon Connington had known Rhaegar since he was a boy sent to King’s Landing to squire for Ser Harlan Grandison. He did not have a mean bone in his body. Rhaegar was his mother’s son, not his father’s.

“Dangerous? You wrong him.” He did not know how Varys had come to such a conclusion, but it was clear to him that he had no notion of who the Prince of Dragonstone truly was. “How is he more dangerous than his father, exactly?”

“Do you believe in the old powers, my lord?”

Rhaegar believed in the old powers and Lyanna believed in the old powers and Arthur Dayne believed in the old powers. Jon had never believed in magic, but the people he was nearest to did. As did the Warden of the North and his maester and House Hightower. And perhaps they were right in these beliefs they held and sometimes, a man had to re-examine what it was he thought he knew. He did not know what to say and decided not to answer the question.

Varys did not seem to care, though. “I was born a slave in Lys. If I had a mother, I do not remember her anymore than I remember my father. It may be that I was taken from them after I was born. I do not know. All the same, I was apprenticed to a troupe of mummers and during a stay in Myr a man offered my master a large sum of money to sell me to him. He turned out to be a sorcerer. He gave me a potion that rendered me powerless to move or speak, but it did nothing to dull my senses. He cut my manhood and fed it to the fire that burned in a brazier in a blood magic ritual,” he said with a very detached tone, as though this thing had happened to a different person. And perhaps it had. Varys looked at him. “After that this sorcerer had no further use for me, so he tossed me out on the street to die. I swore that I would live to spite him. I have hated magic ever since.”

“And what does your tortured childhood have anything to do with Rhaegar?”

“Your prince was born to a prophecy. To put it plainly, this is the sole reason his parents were forced into this farce of a marriage and it is the sole reason he exists.” He pointed to Aegon’s tomb. “This man turned Summerhall into an inferno, killed most people present in a fiery ritual meant to hatch dragons. His great grandson came into the world just as he himself may have been dying. Sorcery caused the death of many people that day.”

“Everyone knows the story.”

“Aye. Everyone knows the story. Rhaegar travels to Summerhall frequently. He consorts with red priests and shadowbinders and hedge wizards and that albino woman in the riverlands, that woods witch everyone thinks perished alongside her Lady Jenny. The one who made the prophecy to the then Jaehaerys. Rhaegar believes in the old powers.”

“And?” Jon asked growing confused by this trail of thought.

“And? Aegon burned down a castle trying to hatch dragons and Aerion Brightflame drank wildfire thinking it would turn him into a dragon. And Daeron had dreams that foretold of the future. Those dreams drove him to whores and to drinking.”

“Rhaegar is Rhaegar. He is not these men who came before him. He doesn’t believe he will turn into a dragon, nor is he looking to hatch dragon eggs,” Jon defended.

“But he has dreams, does he not? These so-called dragon dreams, just as Daeron the Drunkard did. Everyone of these men was dangerous for their beliefs. What kind of man will Prince Rhaegar be in five years? What kind of man will he be in a decade? This is a man who not only believes in the old powers, but is also certain the Long Night is coming. He chases after rare magic books and prophecies and red comets and has himself convinced that a story mothers and wet nurses tell their children to scare them into bed is real and that the realm will fall into darkness. Will he send you across the narrow sea to find dragon eggs for him, my lord? Will he fall to the bottom of a wineskin when he can no longer handle what he sees in his dreams? Will he tie men and women at the stake and place a dragon egg at their feet and burn them while a red priest chants incantations because he had a dream? Aye. Prince Rhaegar is a dangerous man. His belief in magic and the arcane can only lead the realm down a dangerous path. And what will happen then? Better the devil you know than the one you don’t.”

Jon Connington could not believe his ears. This was all too much. “So you fed an innocent girl to a mad man because of this?” He chuckled bitterly at that. “You have no scruples, my lord. And you ask me why I must go on hating you. Lyanna Stark lost her babe because you painted Prince Rhaegar with the same brush as a king who tried to hatch dragons and his brother who was a drunk and this sorcerer who did you harm. It that the way of it? Aerys burns people and the fact that you seem to have chosen to forget that makes you contemptible. All of this could have been solved with one conversation. Do you think Rhaegar would have dismissed you or listened to you?”

“I never meant . . .”

“Never meant? I wish you had been there when we finally found her. She and Oswell were surrounded and she was fighting for her life. You were not there when that arrow was loosed on her. The way she fell to her knees. And the look in her eyes. I promise you, my lord, you would not soon forget it. By the time we arrived at Harrenhal, Rhaegar was covered with her blood. You say you serve the realm, yet you decided that Rhaegar was not only a mad man but an evil one as well. You should have seen him when the maester told him there was no child to be had and you should have seen him when he was told his wife was like to die. His world crashed down around him, but he kept himself together. There was one thing he ever wanted and that was her and you tried to take her from him. And for what? Because you hate magic and decided that Rhaegar was some sort of a monster?”

“My lord, I did not want the girl harmed. I swear it on my life.”

“Your life is worth little and less, Eunuch. I hope you know that. Rhaegar tells me Lyanna blames herself for what happened when in truth all of this was your doing. You targeted her to break him. You used her as a means to an end. None of this would have happened had you taken the time to speak with Rhaegar before you started blaming him for things he never had any intention of doing. Rhaegar doesn’t burn people. He abhors what his father has done. Rhaegar wants to restore the castles along the Wall and have them manned. He wants to purchase glass from Myr to build glass gardens so that the realm will not go hungry in the winter. He wants to bring maesters into holdfasts to teach smallfolk their letters and numbers and be there to cure illnesses. He wants to build more roads and extend the kingsroad down to Dorne through both passes. He wants to do more for the realm. He wants to do well by its people.”

Jon Connington stared down the man standing before him. “Some mistake and error in judgement you made. Rhaegar will have no forgiveness in him for you which is what you want. His forgiveness. Because you erred. His mercy will never extend to you, that much I can tell you. If you want forgiveness, look to his lady wife. She is the only one who will have sway over him. And as it happens, Aerys holds her lord father and her brother. You know what must needs be done.”

Varys nodded his head slowly. “Keep them alive.”

The Lord of Whisperers had a lot to make up for. He knew as much and Jon held the man within his grasp, in a chokehold and he would squeeze everything he could get from him. “Aye. Keep them alive. Lord Stark and his heir must live.”

“I will do my best.”

“Your best is not enough. No harm is to come to Lord Stark and Brandon. Do I make myself clear?”

“Crystal, my lord,” Varys replied before he shuffled out of the crypt. Jon looked one last time at the old Targaryen kings and climbed the steps to begin his day in King Aerys’s court.

 _It is almost over,_ he told himself as he crossed the Hall of Lamps. It would not be long now before his silver prince came home to take his rightful place upon the throne.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> November 20th is fast approaching and this fic will go into hiatus while I read "Fire & Blood." I'm not a slow reader, but I'm assuming I'll need a couple of passes at least.
> 
> Chapter 31 is going to be titled "Shattering of the Peace." I think the title of this is pretty self-explanatory. The following one, chapter 32 is going to be titled "Beloved." This one is for the most part written but will need editing once 31 is completed. I know I have a weird way of writing. I started writing "Beloved" some three months ago. 
> 
> That said, posting of these chapters before Nov 20th will depend **very largely on feedback.** I know it sucks, but them are the breaks. This is not coming for free.
> 
> Everyone of you who always take the time to leave comments. Thank you! "Beloved" and "Death in Four" were written with you in mind guys. Seriously.
> 
> I have something like 4 chapters written or partly written coming down later in the story. 
> 
> There will be a chapter called "World on Fire."  
> There will be a chapter called "The Promise."  
> There will be a chapter with the tentative title of "Landfall" (you know, like a storm making landfall *wink*wink*)  
> The chapter that was originally titled "The Stranger" will now be called "Death in Four."
> 
> I can say for a certainty that "Landfall" and "Death in Four" will be back to back chapters. Where any of these will fall, I don't know yet because I have not figured out the order of the chapters that will follow chapter 32.


	33. 31: Shattering of the Peace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bad news reaches Rhaegar.

His night had been a long one, sitting there in that window seat. He watched the waves rise high and crash on the shores of his island, then recede away in an endless cycle. A dance as old as time, Rhaegar reflected. Just like that thin red line that was now appearing across the horizon after the terrible storm that had pounded the castle for hours on end. Dawn was finally breaking and he hoped the light of day would bring him clarity.

He held Lyanna’s still form closer to him and buried his nose in her hair. The scent of wild orchids overtook his senses, making him almost dizzy.

He had been sitting in the same position for hours now. His arse was numb, his lower back ached and his right leg was cramping from her weight. But that was how she had fallen asleep, her body pressed against his, and he did not dare move for fear of waking her.

His hand slid slowly, from the top of her shoulder where it had been resting, down the gentle slope of her small waist and came to rest on her belly which was now curved with the life growing inside it. She said she felt flutters there at times, like a dozen butterflies beating their wings all at once. “It’s the little one moving around,” the healer had explained to them while they were still in Pentos. “It will not be long before you can feel it as well, my lord. A brush, a kick, perhaps.” Rhaegar had nodded at that and patiently waited for the moment when he could feel his child move against his hand.  

Yet now, he found himself filled with doubts and unsure whether he would ever have that chance.  

He gazed down at Lyanna’s face. She looked serene, but every now and again, she startled in her sleep and looked for him.

The state of her made him feel overwhelming guilt. When she’d told him of her fever dream after her brother and father were made prisoners at the Red Keep, he had dismissed it altogether. Not because he did not believe what she said or did not think it could come to pass. Rhaegar always took Lyanna’s words to heart. But no man ever wanted to think on his death and he simply did not want to believe he would die so soon.

All of this had created distance between them. Physical distance. Emotional distance. And tension. There had been so much tension between them. They had never been anything but close since they had known one another. This had been different. Everything had become so difficult between them. It felt as though the weight of the world had settled on their marriage.

There were these shadows that loomed over them. At first, it was only Aerys. Then Brandon Stark was added. And shortly after that, Lord Rickard had come to join them. Their shadows had only grown and grown since and Robert Baratheon was tossed in with them and now loomed larger than the rest.

He brushed his thumb over her belly, then pressed his lips to the top of her head. She stirred. “Rhaegar?”

“I’m here.” She nodded at that, seemingly reassured to hear his voice. She then sighed and shifted her weight before going back to sleep. Rhaegar moved his leg from under her and pulled the cover on top of them. The fire in the hearth had long guttered out.

He felt tired and exhaled a long breath before he closed his eyes to rest them a few minutes.

They had been in the Chamber of the Painted Table for hours when Myles Mooton had arrived on the island bearing ill news. “Marq Grafton has been slain,” he had told them the second he crossed the threshold into the chamber.

Rhaegar had been there with Lyanna, his two Kingsguard and Ser Elbert discussing meeting points and trying to map out the exits from the endless maze of tunnels that ran below the Red Keep.

Hearing that news had knocked the wind out of him and out from his sails. “Say again?” he had asked confused by the announcement. Myles was supposed to remain at Maidenpool, yet there he was, looking tired and winded.

 _What else,_ he had wanted to ask him, but the words had stuck and would not come. Rhaegar had looked at him silently and waited.

But for the humid wood that had been crackling in the fireplace, quiet had settled in the room. _Who would ever kill Ser Marq without fear of retribution,_ he wondered. It all sounded mad.

“Fighting broke out in the Vale,” Myles said. “Marq tried to stop Jon Arryn and Robert Baratheon from entering Gulltown. He was slain at the walls when the city was taken.”

“Gods be good,” he thought he heard Elbert Arryn say, but there was this buzzing sound in his ears and he felt as though time had slowed. He felt as though he was outside his own body.

Whenever Rhaegar thought he was in control of the situation, something inevitably came along and wrecked everything.

He was going to hold an informal council at Harrenhal, but Lord Varys convinced Aerys to attend the tourney. Rhaegar still wondered how the Spider found out what he had been up to. “I don’t believe he knew a single thing. Only five of us had knowledge of this and none of us spoke of it,” Oswell had said to him one day. “He needn’t know anything. All he had to say was that you would attend the tourney to plan treason. Staunton and Chelsted did most of the leg work on this one when they urged Aerys to stop the tourney happening. When you gave your wife that crown of roses, they tried to convince Aerys that this was a political move on your part.” The plan was perhaps doomed to failure from the start, Rhaegar had realized. He wondered if Aerys remaining in King's Landing would have made a difference.

Rhaegar had traveled to Winterfell. It was something he knew he should have done a lot sooner. He had been thankful to receive Lord Stark’s support and the offer to go to Riverrun and plead his case to the Lords Tully and Arryn. Their support would have meant a great deal and a Great Council could have proceeded ahead. The realm would have had a regent until Aerys died. But Lyanna had been sold to his father to put an end that scheme, he had no doubt of it. It still gave him nightmares just how close he had come to losing her.

In Pentos he had secured the support of the Reach and the unexpected, but welcomed support of Dorne only to find out Brandon Stark had ridden to King’s Landing and spoken words of treason. He was now languishing in a cell with his lord father who had come to ransom him, along with some two hundred northmen who had accompanied him to the city. Rhaegar could scarce sleep for it afterward.

While still in Pentos, Oswell reported a conversation chance heard by a whore he paid good coin to for information. Lucerys Velaryon was bound for Braavos from Driftmark with both his sons. It was nothing out of the ordinary for the Lord of Tides. Lord Velaryon was a man of the sea, just as his forebears had been and he often traveled to the Free Cities. 

Braavos had not been part of the plans. Rhaegar had been intent on going home to Dragonstone to finalize their plans. His household remained in place and the keep was still his. He wanted to be home and he wanted to have Lyanna close at hand when he finally set sail to deal with his father. But Velaryon was important to Aerys and Rhaegar had to move swiftly on this. The news of the Master of Ships’ journey had fallen in his lap in a moment when he had been trying to figure out a way to rid himself of him.

“This will not be your finest moment,” Lyanna had said to him when she found out they would all be sailing for Braavos before striking for home. “No. It will not,” he had replied to her. His actions made him feel ashamed of himself, but Lucerys Velaryon had control of the royal fleet and Rhaegar could not afford to give him battle if it came to it. Velaryon was a seasoned seaman and commander, something Rhaegar was not.

Velaryon had not resisted his imprisonment. He had seemed somewhat relieved that he had no need to return to King’s Landing, something Rhaegar had been surprised by. “Aerys and the pyromancers are hand in glove,” he had said to him.

“Aerys and the pyromancers have always been hand in glove,” Rhaegar had replied to that. “This has been going on for years. Well before Duskendale even.”

“That fiend Rossart has ingratiated himself with Aerys.”

Rhaegar had found himself troubled by that. “Speak plainly,” he had commanded him.

“Nothing more than what I have said. I have been away from King’s Landing for three full turns now. I left after Aerys received that charming letter of yours. Your words drove him mad and wild. But unlike you, I don’t have my ear to the ground, trying to find a way to unseat my king. Besides,” Velaryon had continued, “you and I both know that things can change rather quickly where your lord father is concerned.”

Lucerys Velaryon was kept in a chamber under guard but his sons had the freedom of the castle. Rhaegar allowed them to take one meal a day with their father. The youngest boy had always been more than fond of Lyanna and followed her around as though he had been a little duckling. But both boys had salt water in their veins for certain and enjoyed spending time in the harbor surrounded with ships. Their father may have been his prisoner, but the boys were young and innocent and his hostages in name only.

But for every step forward that they took, they seemed to take a hundred steps back. Rhaegar had been thrilled to receive Jon Connington's letter and find he had been named the new Lord Hand. It made everything infinitely easier with him in that position.

But the next line he had read had been about Lord Varys and how he had been the one to suggest the name to Aerys. It had soured Rhaegar and made his belly churn and coil with anxiety. Varys had fed Aerys’s paranoia and stroked his madness by whispering in his ear. He had given up Lyanna’s identity as the mystery knight, something Rhaegar was not soon to forgive nor forget. He was not a man he could ever trust even with Griff's reassuring words.

And there was this whole sordid business with Qarlton Chelsted and his execution by green flame. It was said the former Hand had called the king mad to his face. Why an unapologetic lickspittle like Chelsted would ever say such a thing to Aerys, Rhaegar did not know, though he was certain there was a lot more to that tale than they knew.

The first person Rhaegar had ever seen burned had been the Lady Serala of Myr. Aerys had had her tongue torn out before she had been tied up and her pyre lit. Her screams had been muted and wordless even as the flames licked at her naked body making the whole matter even worse than if she had been able to scream her pain and anguish. Rhaegar could not sleep for weeks after that whenever he remembered just how gruesome and savage the whole affair at Duskendale had been. Whatever the former Hand had done, whatever he had been, death by fire was horrifying and something Rhaegar did not wish on his worst enemy.

Just as they were about to leave Pentos, Rhaegar had found out that Aerys had summoned Eddard Stark to the Red Keep to swear fealty to his king. When the summons had gone unanswered, he had demanded Jon Arryn deliver his ward's head and Robert Baratheon's as well, because Aerys was an all or nothing sort of man. His father did not much believe in half measures.

By the time Rhaegar and everyone else had set foot on Dragonstone, Jon Arryn had called his banners and Ned Stark had escaped north to lead the host his lord father had assembled. As far as he knew, the army was halfway down to Moat Cailin.

Rhaegar had moved up his timeline by a fortnight. He would be sailing from Dragonstone to King’s Landing within the week.

And now this. Fighting in the Vale. Marq Grafton’s death.

They had been of an age, he and Ser Marq. Rhaegar had known him for some years. _The heir to his House,_ he reflected. An intelligent man. Trustworthy, solid, determined, steadfast. And his friend. It made him feel hollow inside knowing someone he had been fond of no longer existed in the world.

It all came as shock and Rhaegar thought he felt the ground shift beneath his feet, but it hadn’t. It was just him, moving away from where he had been standing. Lyanna stood there stunned, with her hand clasped over her mouth. Oswell and Arthur were silent and Elbert Arryn who was to leave for Gulltown on the evening tide and strike for the Gates of the Moon had paled and was looking at Myles with disbelief etched on every line of his face.

It was an odd feeling. Rhaegar had been surrounded with death from the moment he drew his first breath. His family had been near decimated at Summerhall and his lady mother had lost one babe after another. He had emotionally detached himself from his siblings and had stopped hoping and praying they would survive the birth or live longer than a handful of months. Prayers seemed a futile exercise when the gods seldom answered them.

Myles searched out the inside of his black jerkin and came out with a piece of parchment. Rhaegar could tell by the looks of it that it was a letter that had been delivered by raven. He took it and unfolded it.

“Who slew him? Who would do such a thing?” Lyanna asked with a shaking voice. “Jon Arryn could have held him hostage and ransomed him back to his lord father. He was worth more to him alive than dead.”

“Robert Baratheon killed him,” Rhaegar said as he read the letter that had been penned by Ser Marq’s grieving father. He felt a wave of bitterness crash over him. “Gulltown rose for House Targaryen against Jon Arryn.” He looked at Ser Elbert when he said that before he turned his gaze to Lyanna and away from her, back to the letter that had been written with a shaking hand. “Robert Baratheon slew Marq, but not before accusing him of helping me abduct you.”

Rhaegar knew the talk. He had heard all about Robert Baratheon's accusations. He had named him kidnapper and raper, though the truth of Rhaegar and Lyanna's marriage was no longer a secret. How far and wide that knowledge extended, Rhaegar could only guess. But Robert, it seemed, was relentless in his hatred of him. Hatred that now seemed to extend to his friends and allies.

He glanced back at Lyanna who was leaning forward, her hands braced on the desk, her knuckles bone-white. “He can be bloody buggered,” she muttered under her breath.

“Ser,” he turned his attentions to Elbert Arryn. “You are still leaving on the evening tide. I will prepare a different letter for you to give your lord uncle in light of these events. Wherever he may be by now, find him. He must pull back and he must needs bid Robert Baratheon stand down.” The knight nodded at that.

Rhaegar wanted to avoid war, yet just now, it seemed war was coming to his doorstep. “We will need to leave here as soon as possible.”

“Four days is the closest we can. It’s a tight schedule, but feasible,” Arthur said. “This changes things, Rhaegar. With fighting breaking out, the Red Keep will be a fortress. There will be more gold cloaks and men-at-arms about and it could easily come to blood.”

That was true enough and they were prepared for it. They had been moving armor and weapons into King’s Landing. On top of the men that were waiting in the lower city, Rhaegar now had two hundred northmen that he could use if it came to it and the Kingsguard would not stand in his way. Gerold Hightower had assured him of that much. They would not fight for him nor would they fight against him.

“Robert Baratheon will be sailing to Storm’s End to call his banners,” Myles said. “Whatever we do, we must act fast before he has the chance to do more damage. It will take Eddard Stark another fortnight or so to bring his men down the causeway and into the riverlands. But the northmen will march back once their liege lord and his heir have been released from captivity. I don’t believe Robert Baratheon will care about any of this, however. It may be that he has been planning for this all along if there is truth to this talk of him and Tywin Lannister forming some sort of an alliance.”

Rhaegar had felt tension gather in his shoulders then. If the gods were good, Robert Baratheon’s ship would be smashed to kindling by the storms once it reached Shipbreaker Bay and Rhaegar would never have to hear that man’s name spoken again. He did not feel sorry for his thoughts in the slightest. Robert Baratheon was a bigger headache than he was worth.

Why did everything need to be so complicated? And all for something he did not really want for himself.

“Please give us the room,” Lyanna said. She let go of the desk and stood to her full height. Rhaegar looked at her, but said nothing. The men cleared the room as they had been bid and when the door was closed, her shoulders slumped and she closed her eyes.

“What is it?” he asked her. He thought she looked tired, but of late, the mere suggestion that she ought to rest upset her.

She shook her head slowly and Rhaegar breached the distance between them. He lifted his hands to her neck and rested them there. “You can’t leave here. You can’t go. You need to stay away from King’s Landing and Robert Baratheon,” she murmured.

“Lya, I have to go. I can’t count on my men to do everything while I sit behind the walls of my keep, safe and protected. It takes years to earn someone’s trust and respect and seconds to destroy it. And there is no doubt in my mind I will lose that if I stay away. No one will follow me after that. And I am not going to seek Robert Baratheon out. I have no reason to.” He had plenty reasons to seek him out, but he did not believe saying it aloud would go well for him. “Lord Robert can bark and foam at the mouth all he wants.”

“You don’t understand . . .”

He dropped his hands from her neck down to his sides and took a step back from her. “No. I understand plenty. You have convinced yourself that I am going to die.”

“Convinced myself? You believe every dream I have ever had about creatures of ice, but you will not believe this one? Why is that? Your father holds my father and brother and could decide to lop off their heads whenever it strikes his fancy. Robert Baratheon is accusing you of kidnapping and rape and is sailing to call his banners. Why do you still think my dream was just some ordinary dream?”

“It was a _fever_ dream, Lyanna.” He felt his ire rise.

“Aye. A fever dream where I watched you die. A fever dream where my father and brother were both dead. A fever dream where I died in childbed. A fever dream where our son was an orphan who knew nothing of who he was or of us but for the stories told by the man who killed you and stood over you as you drew your last breath.”

“There are more pressing matters than this,” he said. He needed to get the Starks out and away from the Red Keep as well as his lady mother and brother. Rhaegar’s heart had leaped into his throat when he found out about his mother’s outburst in the council chamber while Aerys had been surrounded with lords and lordlings. She had gambled with her life and well-being by outing the letter that he had written. Rhaegar had not wanted her to become involved in this and had warned her away from his plots and schemes. Rhaella had suffered far too much at Aerys’s hands. He did not want to know the kind of abuse his father subjected her to after this.

“Lyanna . . .” He could feel frustration and anger coming off her in waves. It felt as though they had been spoiling for a fight for some time now.

“No. _Save it,”_ she said. “I am leaving here with you.”

“And what do you think you will accomplish by leaving with me exactly?”

“I can stop Robert Baratheon.” She crossed her arms over her chest. Her eyes were hard and her mouth was set in that stubborn line that always made him weary unto death.

“You and what army, pray? Or do you think the great oaf will listen to anything you have to say?” he asked her sarcastically. “You are not going _anywhere,_ Lyanna.” She set him on edge. His body was tense and he felt defensive.

“Oh. You think you can make me stay here? I can take a ship and leave the moment you set sail,” she threatened him.

She was never going to go to the mainland while King’s Landing was still under Aerys’s control. “You have known you were going to remain behind while I went back to the city. It was decided weeks upon weeks ago.”

“I did not decide anything. _You_ decided. _You,”_ she said pointing an accusing finger at him.

“You make it sound as though I twisted your arm into this. I said you should stay away and you agreed. And quite frankly, I really don’t care that this upsets you weeks later.”

Of course it was the wrong thing to say, he realized as soon as the words crossed his lips. Of course he cared that she was upset. He could never win these arguments and there was no time for this any longer.

“You don’t care? Then I don’t care either. I am not staying here!” she shouted at him. “I am not Lucerys Velaryon. I am your wife, not your prisoner.”

“Have you gone mad? You are with child. You cannot go traipsing around. And even if you weren't with child, you still cannot go traipsing around. This is not the same realm we left all those months ago,” he replied turning away from her.

She would not have it, though. She grabbed his arm forcing him to stop and turn back. “Mad? Is that a word you should be throwing around so carelessly? You cannot keep me here against my will.”

The way she was looking at him cut him. It was a look full of anger and blame and hurt. He stared at her. “That was low,” he finally said. “You managed to compare me to my father _and_ sound like Robert Baratheon with his foul accusations in the same breath. Well done!”

He continued looking at her, searching her face, but she was not looking back at him. That hurt more than anything she could have said to him. “Was there ever a moment when I kept you prisoner? Was there ever a moment I forced you to do something you did not want to do? Was there _ever_ a moment I denied you what you wanted? I am trying to keep you safe.” Arguments were part of every marriage, he told himself. This, though . . .  “What has gotten into you? Whoever you are, I would like to have my wife back. _You_ are not her. My wife is not some _irrational_ person.”

“You took us to Pentos . . .”

“To protect you from my father,” he cut her off incensed. “How was I supposed to know that your dolt brother would go rushing to the Red Keep and get himself arrested for treason?” He pulled his arm out of her grasp abruptly.

“I hate you,” she said with a voice filled with scorn.

“Well, I  hate you more. And you are still not going,” he threw back. If she wanted him to be unkind, then he would be unkind, but her eyes filled with tears at his words and her lower lip quivered, making him feel like the worst man who ever lived. “I sat by your sick bed and watched life fade from you slowly. I watched you wither away to almost nothing. You may not know what it felt like to think I was going to lose you, but I do. I came close to losing the only thing that ever mattered to me, the one thing that meant everything in a life that meant _nothing._ If my father gets his hands on you, he will wait for the child to be born, _rip it_ from your arms, then he will _kill you._ Without hesitation or a second thought. If Robert Baratheon gets his hands on you, he will take you against your will. And when he finds out you are with child, he will have no use for you. And then he will _kill you._ But not before he cuts our child out from your belly, I'd wager.” He paused. “You want to hop on a ship and go? There’s the door. _Go._ I’ll not stop you.” He cursed himself for his words. As far as things he should not dare her to do went . . . knowing her, she could well take him up on it.

“Rhaegar . . .” she choked his name out. She looked like she was barely holding herself together. He would not look at her or go to her, though. This argument should never have been.

Outside the wind had begun howling and he could hear the waves crash against the rampart. “I can’t do this with you. I have letters to write. I need to salvage this mess with Jon Arryn. Things have already gone much further than I ever thought they would. If the Vale drags the riverlands into this then who knows where we will end.” There were too many variables now and the stakes were suddenly much _much_ higher than when he had first started these plans.

He heard her move, slowly, away and away and away from where she had been standing. He sat when she was gone and stared at his quill and the parchment and the wax and his seal. But Lyanna was at the forefront of his thoughts. As always.

“Rhaegar.”

“What?” He looked up from his things on the desk and at Arthur.

“Is she alright?”

He shook his head. “No. She’s not. And quite frankly, neither am I. I have _never_ spoken to her this way. She was worried Robert would kill me. Now I think she is convinced he will with all that’s happened.”

Rain began to lash at the large windows just as lighting ripped the dark skies in half and thunder sounded in the distance making the Drum Tower boom and rumble. “It doesn’t seem like Ser Elbert will be going anywhere any longer,” he said. The letter will keep until the morrow. He had a more pressing matter just now. “Find him and tell him his journey has to be delayed until the storm is passed.” On top of everything else, he could not risk the life of the heir to the Vale. With the luck they had lately, his ship would sink and Elbert would drown.

He sighed heavily, pushed himself from his chair and trekked slowly to the apartments he shared with his wife. He pushed the door open and stepped inside. He closed it, barred it, leaned back against it and looked around the room. There was a fire in the hearth. Torches had been lit and tall and dark shadows danced against the stone walls. The dress Lyanna had been wearing was discarded to the ground. The bed was empty, but he saw the thick curtain rustle. He toed off his boots and left them where he had been standing. He then picked up the dress and the belt and the bodice and laid them on the chair.

Beyond the curtain was a window seat, long and large, with cushions and a throw cover. Lyanna always liked sitting there with a book, just as Rhaegar enjoyed sitting there playing his harp. When he pulled the curtain, he found her changed into her night shift, her hair was unbound, falling about her shoulders like a waterfall. Her arms circled her knees and she was looking out at the storm. “Lyanna,” he spoke her name softly. He knew she heard him, but she didn’t turn her head to look at him. He got to his knees and ran his fingers in her hair before he kissed her shoulder.

“Brandon was the absolute worst when we were growing up,” she spoke. Her voice was so small, Rhaegar would not have been able to hear it had he not been beside her. “He was so full of mischief. Every bad thing he ever did, he always blamed on Ned afterward. But no one ever believed him because Ned was sweet and quiet and Brandon was his very own storm, a devil of a child. He used to go into the glass gardens, pick peas, shell them and put them in a reed and spit them at us. It was painful when they landed and they would leave these red marks on the skin.” She tugged at the hem of her shift and found a loose thread that she started pulling at. Rhaegar put his hand on hers to stop her then threaded his fingers to hers and rested his chin on her shoulder.

“Once, he helped me climb up the Burned Tower. There were crows nesting there and I wanted to feed them corn. I climbed up and I could not climb back down. As punishment, Father was going to let me sleep there, but Mother would not allow him. Brandon and I were reprimanded. He took a thrashing and I was forbidden to leave my bedchamber, forbidden from riding or doing anything I enjoyed. But Ned smuggled me charcoals and parchment so that I could keep drawing.”

She was worried about her brothers, both of them, that much was clear to him. “Is that why you refuse to eat peas?” he asked her.

“You wouldn't want to eat them either if you got pelted with them when you were a child,” she said turning her head and gazing at him. He saw her lip tug to one side. He brushed her cheek with a finger before he got off his knees and sat on one of the cushions, facing her.

“Did you know my lord father is a knight?” she asked him.

“I did,” he replied. Rickard Stark’s lady mother was a Locke of Oldcastle, one of the southernmost Houses in the north and a knightly House.

Lyanna leaned her head against the window and brushed the condensation from it with the forefinger she wore her marriage ring on. He looked down at his own and twisted it around with his thumb before he looked back at her. “I don’t think I will ever be able to forgive myself for dressing as the mystery knight. I only wanted to help Howland Reed, but everything that’s happened since then can be traced directly to that one single moment in time. It has been such a terrible lesson to learn.” She wiped a stray tear away. “Marq Grafton always brought me flowers whenever he came to King’s Landing or here.”

“He knew how fond you are of flowers.”

“He was very gallant.”

“He was. And he was a good friend and he will he missed by all those who knew him.”

“Our daughter, Ser Marq, Brandon, my lord father, the nameless and faceless people of Gulltown. I have killed them all.”

“You have killed no one.” Was this the other thing that had been eating away at her? “You did not kill our daughter or Ser Marq. We are making haste with our plans to retrieve your brother and father. Nothing is lost and you will see them again.”

She shook her head and looked at him. “I think you are wrong. I think I may have killed you too.”

“You have not killed me, Lya. I am _right here._ Why won’t you let go of this? What are you so afraid of?”

“I am afraid of losing you. The thought of you dying tears my heart to shreds.” She moved closer to him and put her hands to his face. “I don’t hate you,” she said. “Even the days when I want to throttle you, I love you.”

He took one of her hands and kissed the inside of it. “I am sorry for all that I said earlier. I lost my temper. I don’t hate you. I love you far too much to ever hate you, Lya.” She leaned forward and pressed her lips to his and he could tell by the way her mouth was opening, the way her hands were moving up his chest, the way her fingers were tangling in his hair that she wanted more.

And so did he if his mind being scrubbed of any coherent thought was any indication. He could barely recall the last time they had lain together.

The deeper Rhaegar had gotten into his plans, the less time he had to be with her. He was present and absent all at once. Lyanna had always stood firmly on her own two feet. She could be so fiercely independent and together that Rhaegar had forgotten that there were times she needed all of him there with her. Another one of his failures.

He was the one to pull away from her even though he was aware that she had been grinding against him and that his hands had been urging her on. Her eyes bore into his for half a heart beat. “You have not kissed me like this in a while,” he said.

“Neither have you,” she replied. “It was nice.”

“It was nice,” he acknowledged. _How can you miss someone so much when they are right there,_ he wondered. “I have missed you,” he told her. “And I know this distance is of my doing. I hadn’t realized. I am sorry for it.”

“I am sorry for it too. And I am sorry you feel I am hanging on to that dream. I don’t want to. But it was so painful, I can’t forget.”

Rhaegar sighed. “Your fever was very high and the maester gave you the milk of the poppy twice a day. The child in your dream,” he asked her, “do you think it was this one?” Inadvertently, his eyes flickered from her face down to her belly. It was round and small. He could barely see it, concealed by her shift as it were, but Rhaegar knew it was there. His gaze lingered for a short moment before he looked at her face again. She was looking back at him and he saw her hands shake where she had them clasped together in her lap.

“I don’t know,” she said. “But it’s the shadows.” Fat tears rolled down her cheeks. “I dreamed my mother would die the night before she did. The shadows were there then too. You see dragons and I see shadows.”

“Lya . . .”

“Rhaegar, they have been part of the night terrors I have about the Long Night for as long as I can remember. They are always there. And they were there during the fever dream. They were chased away by your voice. They lifted when I heard your voice. ‘Come, my heart,’ you said.”

“I remember,” he told her. He remembered that whole ordeal well enough. And he remembered what she had said to him when they found themselves alone in the room. _“I heard you,” she told him.“ ‘Come, my heart,’ you said. ‘Open your eyes.’ I followed your voice.”_

“Did you have this dream again?”

She shook her head. “No. You can’t dismiss it, though.”

“I won’t.”

He thought of that night, one much like this one when she told him of her dream in the midst of tears and shuddering breaths and heaving. She’d told him of the battle in the waters of the Trident and how Robert Baratheon strove his chest in with his warhammer. She’d told him of the rubies exploding from his armor like so many droplets of blood. She’d told him he had died with her name on his lips.

Rhaegar remembered this feeling of drowning as she spoke. It had been as though someone had been holding his head under water. His lungs burned and his heart raced and a feeling of dread had settled over him. It made him feel odd hearing about his death. He felt he had too much left to do to die. Yet he’d sat there across from her on the bed they shared and listened to this dream she’d had while she had been knocking on the Stranger’s door.

And she’d told him of the small boy she’d seen who had looked so much like him then so much like her and who had been kept in the dark for his own safety. “You never kept secrets from me before and especially not something like this. Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” he had asked her.

“I was afraid that if I spoke of it, the dream would become true,” she had replied. Lyanna had been a proper mess that night. She had worked up herself so much, Rhaegar had feared for her health and that of their child.

He leaned back against the wall and extended his hand to her. She took it and he gently pulled her to him. “My uncle Aemon warned me not to take the dreams too literally. Some dreams do happen and some dreams are warnings and some dreams mean absolutely nothing. My fate is not sealed by any means. But just in case, I will see Robert Baratheon dead first.”

“I thought that if I went with you and he saw me and heard me that he would stop.”

 _He will not,_ he almost said to her. Robert was much like Aerys when he became fixated on something. “Don’t think about him,” he told her instead. “Close your eyes.” She did as he bid her. He ran his fingers in her hair and down her back. “It’s you and me. Nothing and no one is ever going to change that.”

He had a notion just then, but when he looked down at her, he saw she had fallen asleep. He would tell her later. He pulled the cover over her and watched her. How many times since she had been attacked had he sat and watched her chest rise and fall and felt a wave of relief knowing she was breathing still? Even after all the months that had passed, he still feared for her. 

He turned his head and looked out of the window at the storm that still battered the castle and the narrow sea. He would have much to do in the days to come. 

A sigh crossed his lips just as thunder sounded. _The storm lord,_ he almost laughed at the irony of the situation. “The gods make japes of all our hopes and plans,” he whispered to himself.

Sometime later, when the storm had passed and the thin red line of dawn began to break across the horizon, he closed his eyes to rest them. But he must have fallen asleep. When he opened them again, the sun was out and the sky was blue and Lyanna was reclined back against his chest, still in her shift, humming softly to herself as she traced patterns on the swell of belly with her fingers.

“What time is it?” he asked.

“About two hours past dawn,” she said. “You should have woken me. The bed would have been far more comfortable for you than the window seat.” She swung her legs over the side and stood. Rhaegar winced as he moved. He put his feet down on the cold floor and watched her stretch her arms above her head.

“For what it's worth,” he told her, “I think it will be a girl.”

“What makes you say that?”

“A feeling.” He fisted the fabric of her shift and tugged her back to him, bent his head and pressed his lips to her belly.

She jumped back giggling. “Your beard is ticklish.”

He scratched at his chin and his cheeks and smiled. “It was your idea. My own mother will not recognize me once all of this is dyed.” The hair would be dyed as would his beard and brows. His eyes would no longer look a deep purple. They would look black instead and no one would look twice at him. 

“There is a lot to do before I leave. Whatever free time there is in between, I want us to make the most of it,” he told her as he stood.

“And do you have time to make the most of it right now?” she asked him.

“I have time to make the most of it right now,” he replied watching the shift she wore fall to the ground and pool around her feet.

Rhaegar did not know if there was a warhammer and a watery grave in his future. He did not know if Lyanna’s dream would come to pass. What he knew was that he would not think or dwell on it any longer.

If he died, he died. But first he would live, he resolved as he lifted Lyanna's chin with the tip of his fingers and kissed her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A reminder that this fic will go into hiatus as of November 20th (a week from today) while I take myself to the bookstore, purchase F&B and read it, then dissect it, then read it again and dissect it some more.
> 
> The next chapter needs very heavy editing, so I don't know if it will be posted before the hiatus date. After that I have to figure out quite a bit with my timeline. The next chapter (whenever it is posted) will take the story into its final stretch.
> 
> And honestly, from here on out, posting chapters will be dependent on comments. My friend suggested that I take emails and share the story on google docs with those who have shown support and bother. I know, bitchy move, but I am very much considering it.
> 
> The chapter I had called "Landfall" (and which is happening down the line) now has the definitive title of "Dragonspawn."


	34. 32: Beloved

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lyanna and Rhaegar say their goodbyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written with all those who always encouraged this story in mind. Thank you guys, a thousand thousand times :)

These were the moments Lyanna had always loved best, the quiet ones when she and Rhaegar could just be. Today was a different sort of quiet, however. It felt heavy and foreboding.

Lyanna shifted her head on her pillow and looked down at Rhaegar. His head rested upon her breast and his eyes were closed. With a light finger, she traced the contour of his hairline, then the shape of his eyebrow, the shell of his ear, the bridge of his aquiline nose and then his lips before she followed an unseen trail down to his chin and scratched at his neatly trimmed beard. “Are you asleep?” she asked him before she slipped her hand under the collar of his tunic and rested it upon his warm skin. She felt for the medallion she had given him, a three-headed dragon wrought in rubies, on onyx. A reminder of who and what he was.

“No,” he answered her, “I could not, even if I wanted to.”

He pushed himself up to his elbows and he sat up. Slowly, he pivoted and faced her. “How do you feel?” he asked her, taking her hand where it had fallen and bringing it to his mouth before he lightly kissed the tips of her fingers. One by one.

 _I am unwell,_ she wanted to tell him. _I am sick with worry and filled with apprehension._ It was the way her heart squeezed in her chest so very painfully and it was the way she could not look at him without feeling dread and doom settle in the pit of her stomach.

But Rhaegar already knew all of that. And she could feel the nervous energy coming off him in waves. The closer they had come to his departure from Dragonstone, the more anxious they both had become. “I am well,” she said, trying to quiet the tremors in her voice. “I thought it would have stopped by now, the nausea. I don’t know who decided to call it morning illness, but whoever he was, he should be strung up. Right next to the person who called moon blood ‘flowering.’ Now that one . . .”

Rhaegar chuckled and shook his head at her fondly. He had been busy in the past handful of days, but he had kept his promise to make the most of the time they had left together before he was due to travel to King’s Landing. Once the work day was over, it had been just the two of them.  

They did the things they always enjoyed doing together. They went on their long walks on the shores of Dragonstone. There, they built fires and roasted meat, like that time from days gone at Summerhall. She sketched while they chatted away about everything and nothing.

Talk. With everything going on around them, it was something they did not do as often as they used to. And they went riding. And whenever she felt tired, Rhaegar played his harp while she closed her eyes and listened or he picked up a book and read to her.

And late at night, he loved her so very slowly in their bed, it felt as though he was trying to stretch whatever time they had and commit every touch and every thrust and every kiss and every breath to memory.

“There are things we must discuss,” he told her as he pushed himself up from the bed.

“Do we have to?” she asked. She had been dreading this, but the moment when he would leave was fast coming. The evening tide was but a couple of hours away now. She sat up and watched him rummage through one of the drawers of the desk and take a soft leather binder out. He turned around and gave her a small smile when he saw her eyes lingering on him. Slowly, he made his way back to her and sat back down.

“You know we do. I’ve put it off long enough,” he replied. “I will make it as painless as I can.”

Lyanna sighed and moved closer to him. “It’s hard to believe whatever is in this will be painless.”

She watched him pull the leather strings to undo the knot and open the folds. He looked inside, seemingly trying to decide where he should start.

He took a letter out. It was folded and bore his seal, quartered with the three-headed dragon of the Conqueror. “This is for your brother,” he told her “It explains what my intentions are in King’s Landing and it is my promise that I will bring your lord father and brother out from there safely. I would sooner he does not speak on this to anyone. The less people know my whereabouts and what I am up to, the better it will go for all involved.”

Lyanna nodded slowly at that. She too would be leaving Dragonstone. It had been Rhaegar’s notion to send her to Ned once his host crossed into the riverlands. “He is your brother and you will be with your northmen. I cannot think of a safer place for you to be if you are not going to remain here.” She had been grateful to him that he had decided to meet her halfway. If she could not be with him in King’s Landing, then being with Ned would be the next best thing.

“You will be my envoy and as such, you will speak with my voice. Do not waste words. Choose them carefully and use them with tact.”

“I will make you proud,” she said reassuringly. “You’ll see.”

“I don't think there's ever been a moment since I have known you when you have not made me proud. I know you will do well in this situation as well.”

He paused and stared at the letter. His demeanor did not convince her of his words, though, and Lyanna thought he might balk at this and not send her to Ned any longer. “This was your idea, Rhaegar. Please don’t change your mind now.”

“I am not going to change my mind. I think sending you to your brother will go a long way in putting a stop to something terrible happening before it does, but I need your word, Lyanna. You are leaving the safety of these walls for a tent city and uncertainty and I need you to promise me that you will do as you are bid. For the love you say you bear me, please, I need you to be level-headed and to think through every one of your actions before you commit to them. Oswell will be with you until he delivers you to your brother. I need you to promise me that you will listen to him.”

“I will listen.”

He shook his head at her. “Will you or are you only saying this to placate me? Do I need to make you swear an oath before a tree?”

She snorted at that. A jape in the middle of all this tension. Those who did not know _this_ side of Rhaegar were missing out, she thought. “No,” she replied. “You do not need to make swear an oath before a tree. I swear on my life that I will listen to him. And when he leaves to join you, I promise you I will listen to my brother. It’s not just me anymore. I won’t put our child’s life at risk by being stubborn. I am not so eager to repeat what happened last time. I have learned my lesson.”

It was a queer feeling, Lyanna had to admit to herself. She found that she had changed since she learned she was with child. She was more careful in everything she did. It was her little one’s safety and well being that was at the forefront of her thoughts now. She could scarce believe her ears when the healer in Pentos had broken the news to her. She had suspected it, but had felt it was too soon happening after the miscarriage she had suffered. But then, she had gotten used to the idea and nothing had prepared her for the wave of love she felt after that. She found herself looking forward to the day she would hold her babe in her arms.

She did not know how long she would be able to do that, though. She closed her eyes to chase her fever dream away and when she reopened them Rhaegar was staring at her.

“I believe you,” he said. “This,” he showed her a set of documents that bore different seals, including one from the Iron Bank, “is my will.”

“Rhaegar, what are you doing?” she asked him. Her heart raced and she thought she might become ill again.

“This has to be done, Lya. It’s nothing more than a precaution I am taking. The will is straight forward. Everything I own, manses, ships, storehouses, the accounts at the Iron Bank will revert to you, save for one account. That account I put in place some years past. A quarter of all the revenues from the shipping business goes into it. The coin is for everything that pertains to the Long Night. I was going to use it to purchase the glass for the glass gardens, help your lord father rebuild the castles along the Wall, pay the Citadel for the maesters I meant to send to the villages and holdfasts in the crownlands and whatever else that is required.”

Not for the first time this day, Lyanna felt a lump form in her throat. She swallowed it with difficulty and nodded her head. _He said it is a precaution,_ she told herself, _and Rhaegar is a cautious man._

“If it’s a boy you are carrying,” he continued, “I would name you his regent.” He pointed at another letter that also bore his own seal. She saw  his signature as well as the signatures of his witnesses, Arthur Dayne, Oswell Whent, Oberyn Martell and Elbert Arryn.

“Why didn’t you tell me of this?” she asked him confused.

“It was never supposed to see the light of day. But things changed when your father and brother were taken and Lord Arryn called his banners. I want you protected.”

“This is not protection. This is nothing more than a paper shield,” Lyanna said. “I would sooner retire to Winterfell.”

“A paper shield is better than no shield at all.”

Lyanna shook her head. “I need none of this. I want none of it.”

“No, you would not,” Rhaegar replied. “The regency is one thing, but everything else, those are things I can confidently pass on to you and to our son or daughter. This," he pointed to the documents that bore the various seals, "All of it. It belongs to me. I built it all with my own hands. The gold I borrowed from the Iron Bank was repaid years ago.”

She did not want to swallow those lumps that kept forming in her throat any longer. What Lyanna wanted was to cry her pain and her sorrow and this feeling of impotence that followed her wherever she went. And the way he was looking at her, as though there was so much he wanted to say but did not know where he ought to begin cut her.

“It would have been so much easier if you had never laid eyes on me,” she murmured. How many times had she thought that since she had upended their lives? If they had never met, he may have married Elia Martell and he would be safe from all this madness, tucked away with his wife, with his children about him.

“No. It was always going to be you and I, no matter the paths we took.”

“How do you know that?”

“Do you remember the first kiss we shared?” he asked her. He was looking back at her so intently. There was not a speck of purple left in his eyes in this light, she saw.

Lyanna could never forget the first kiss they had shared. It had been seared in her mind just as it had been seared upon her lips. Months after it had happened, she still felt the warm brush of his lips against hers and to this day she could see that moment still. 

That was the day she had sealed her life to his and the day she had decided she would follow the course he would chart for them. She had been so young then and even with all the mistakes and missteps, she would choose to fall in love with him still and she would choose to allow him to kiss her still and she would choose to marry him still and she would choose to share his life still. A thousand times over, she would make those choices. Over and over and over. It was everything around those choices that she would do differently, starting with the truth.

“I think you should remind me,” she said coyly.

Rhaegar held her hand in his just as he had then, at Lannisport. She felt the warmth of his breath against her cheek and his lips brush against hers before his mouth opened just enough to trap her lower lip between his. And just like that first time when he had kissed her, it lasted seconds and it left her heart racing and she wished he would not stop. Her lower lip tingled when he pulled away from her and she touched her fingers to it. He was still looking at her and bent his head and kissed her again, longer and harder and hungrier and when he pulled away again, he whispered, “This is how I really wanted to kiss you that day.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“I did not want to overwhelm you.”

“I was in love with you. I don't believe anything could have been more overwhelming than that.”

“I did not want to frighten you.”

“You could never frighten me,” she said softly, touching her the palm of her hand to his cheek.

“I used to have this dream before Lannisport,” he told her. “A dragon, circling, looking for something he did not seem to be able to find. It was part of my nights for as long as I can remember. After we crossed paths at Summerhall, the dragon circled, and would start beating his wings to land, but I always woke up before he touched ground.”

“You don’t have this dream any longer?”

Rhaegar shook his head. “No, I don't. The last time I had the dream was the day I kissed you. The dragon was in the air, circling, searching as he always did. But that night, he finally landed.”

“What was it the dragon was looking for?”

“You,” he said. “He had been looking for you. I knew that if I kissed you, I would never be able to let you go no matter what happened. In my mind, that dream only confirmed what I already knew. The dragon landed before this beautiful she-wolf who had your eyes and it was as though you were looking back at me through her in my dream. Even if it wasn’t at the Wall, or Summerhall, you and I would have crossed paths eventually and it would still have been you, my darling. It would always have been you, no matter the circumstances.”

She exhaled a shuddering breath. She remembered that feeling on the day she was leaving Lannisport to return to Amberly. It felt as though she had been floating on a cloud. The man she loved had confessed his own feelings to her and had kissed her. When she turned her head to look back at him, he had pulled up his sleeve to show her the ribbon she had tied about his wrist before the jousting competition had begun.

“I found something the other day,” she said throwing her hand behind her and searching under her pillow. “I found it in my old bedchamber.” She showed him the other half that belonged to the same ribbon he had taken from her hair that day from long ago. Silver with blooms of pale blue roses.

It made him smile when he saw it. “I have missed it around my wrist. It’s queer how something so small can become part of a person.”

“As you can see,” she told him, “I have gotten much better at stitching.” She thought of the piece of leather she had embroidered with a red dragon that was added to his new scabbard, the one he would use to sheath the Valyrian sword that was waiting for him in King’s Landing.

“You have,” he admitted. “But out of all the things you have made, I still love this best.” He traced one the roses with a long elegant finger then pulled the sleeve of his tunic back and presented her with his wrist. “Will you do me the honor of bestowing your favor upon me, my lady?” he asked her and Lyanna saw a faint blush coloring his cheeks that made her smile. It was endearing and made her love him even more.

“My favor will always be yours, ser,” she told him as she wrapped the ribbon twice about his wrist before she started tying a knot. “Just as my heart is yours. Now and always.” When she was done, he tucked her hair behind her ear, brushed her cheek with his thumb and nodded at what she said. “You will carry a piece of me when you leave for King’s Landing, just as I carry a piece of you.” She touched to her belly.

“If our child is a boy, I would name you his regent,” he told her once more. “Surround yourself with people you trust and listen to their counsel. There is a chance a Great Council will be called to determine succession if my father dies.”

“I told you, I would sooner go back to Winterfell. Boy or girl, I would sooner they have nothing to do with King’s Landing and the Red Keep. Not if you are not there.”

Rhaegar shook his head and smiled at her sadly. “If this is a boy, then this is the road he will be born to walk and his road will be a more difficult one still, Lyanna. He will be born a Targaryen prince, born to rule, born to duty. And if he is the prince that was promised, then his life will be doubly difficult. Destiny is a heavy burden to carry and the only freedom he may find is in the choices he is able to make for himself, as we have. And even then you and I have exacted a heavy toll for the happiness we have found in each other.” He sighed. “If I had the chance, I would do everything so differently, beginning with the truth. I regret the way I handled things. It was the arrogance of youth, perhaps, thinking that nothing could touch us because of who you and I are. Then Duskendale happened and Aerys became mad and Tywin Lannister tried to use me as a pawn in these games he was playing. I should not have let it go this far. This has been my greatest failure and it will be my burden to carry for the rest of my days. I have let you down with the choices I made. I have let you down and I hope you will forgive me.”

“There is nothing to forgive, Rhaegar. I never did anything I did not want to do. The kingdom bleeds because of me, not you. If I had not dressed in that armor and entered the lists, Aerys would have had no reason to send men after me. My brother would not have ridden to King’s Landing and my father would not have had need to go after him to get him back.”

Rhaegar shook his head at that. “You ought to let go of this notion. You ought to let go of this guilt you have been carrying around.”

“That is easier said than done,” she retorted.

“There are those who will seek to use our child, be he a boy or a girl. Surround them with people who will love them and want what is best for them. Your family and Griff and Arthur and Oswell . . .”

She scoffed at that. “You want other men to love your child in your stead? Is that the way of it now?”

He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. “I want my father to be as he was a decade ago, before the madness felled him and I want a summer that never ends and bountiful harvests and I want this life with you and I want to watch our children be born and thrive and I want to grow old and grey with you by my side. There are a lot of things I want, Lyanna. And I can assure you that counting on other men to love this child that you and I made together and help you raise it is not one of them, no matter how close I am with them.”

She said nothing to that. “I know your lord father and brothers will be there for you if you will let them as will Jon and Arthur and Oswell. And my mother. Allow them to help you carry your burdens. I want you to be whole and happy.”

For all his intelligence, Rhaegar could be such a fool at times, she thought. “Whole and happy? How can I be whole when I don’t have that which makes me whole? There is no happiness for me if I don't have you to share it with. I want our child to have _you!”_ She buried her face in her hands before she dropped them limply into her lap. “I don’t want scraps of other people to try and make one of you. I don’t want bits and parts of you that exist in these other people to try and give our child the father he or she deserves to have. They may all love this little one, but they are not you. _They will never be you.”_

“Lyanna, listen to me . . .”

“You don’t understand,” she interrupted him. “You said that you knew what it felt like to sit by my sick bed and think that I was going to die. You see, that fever dream I had . . . you will never know how many times I relived that moment when _I_ lost you. Over and over, I saw you die. I would wake in the dead of the night to make sure you still lived. I would sit and watch your chest rise and fall with every breath that you took. I do not want to look back on this life that we have built for ourselves or live in the past.” She felt tears sting at the back of her eyes. If she started to cry, she did not know that she would be able to stop. “That’s not enough for me. A future without you in it will never be enough for me.”

He looked at her and said nothing, but she could see the emotions flickering in his eyes. “In that dream, I knew what it felt like to see you die and to know your eyes were closed to me forever. I knew what it felt like to lose you. It was this inconceivable loss in my life and I thought I would go mad for it. It was as if it were my heart that had been smashed to bits and pieces by that warhammer. I felt myself die too. I don’t know how I go on if you . . . if you . . .”

The words would not come. All she felt was this keen loss of him. It was as though a bright light had gone out from the world. From _her_ world. Leaving it dark and sad and unbearably lonely. All she saw were his eyes closing and all she heard was his breath leaving his body as he whispered her name one last time. She remembered how his blood had swirled down river in the turbulent waters of the Trident and when she held his hand to her cheek it had been cold as ice.

“Do not say such things,” he told her. “You are resilient, Lyanna. My wife has the heart of a warrior and she _always_ overcomes. You go on. You _must_ go on.” He cupped her face between his hands and looked into her eyes. “You are stronger than you know, my darling. You have been the rock on which I leaned all these years. For everything. You are the rock on which I have built my life. You gave me strength when there was none of it left in me. It would be a tragedy if our child didn’t have you.”

“And where do you think my strength comes from, Rhaegar? And you don’t believe it would be a tragedy if our child never knew you? You don’t believe it would be a tragedy if our child did not have you?” she asked him bewildered. She remembered the boy in her dream who had looked so like his father when he was small and who he had looked so like his father when he smiled and he had looked so like his father when he laughed and who had sounded so like his father when he spoke. It tore her apart inside. “You don’t know,” she said. “You just don’t know.”

“It may be that I don’t know,” he replied with a quiet voice. “But that boy you told me of in your dream, he may be our son or he may not be and he may be the child you are carrying now or he may not be. He had a man who raised him as though he was his own son. It was a mother he did not have. And that was what he missed all his days.” His eyes were shining with tears, she saw, but she knew he would not shed them.

“Aye. He had a father who loved him and a father who raised him, but that father was not you,” she said with a broken voice.

“I doesn’t matter.”

“It doesn’t matter? How can you say such a thing? Of course it matters!”

“The only truth I know when it comes to this is that I want our child to have you. I know I want our child to know the sound of your voice and the softness of your hands and the warmth of your smile and the comfort of your arms, Lya. And I want them to know what a full heart feels like. I want them to know joy. As I have. Because of you. I want them to know what it feels like to be loved so completely and so unconditionally. This is how you have _always_ loved me. There is nothing more pure or more real in my life than you or the way that you love me. You have given me so much and never asked for anything in return.”

Lyanna felt as though she was drowning. There was no one she loved more than this man and this child growing inside her, yet now, he was telling her that she may have to carry on without him. The reality of the situation hit her all at once. If this plan went belly up, Rhaegar would lose his head. Aerys was mad enough to make an example of his own son. She could not bear the thought.

“You gave me all your love and the chance to be who I wanted to be,” she replied. She felt dizzy and so tired from this conversation they were having. It felt as though hours had come and gone since he told her they must speak. But that was not so. “What you have brought into my life goes beyond what I can express with words. I want our child to you know you. I want our child to know what it feels like to be loved the way that you love me. But you sound as though you are saying goodbye. You sound as though you don’t believe you will come back to me. What’s changed?”

“Nothing has changed. And there will never be a goodbye between us. I love you far too much for that. But all the careful plans I have made have been laid to waste. Blown like dead leaves in the wind and scattered away. It feels as though I am dancing on a string and the gods are flicking me in whichever direction they want for their own amusement,” he said bitterly. “I have too many regrets and I do not wish to have more of them when I sail away from here.”

He took a document that seemed to contain several pages. It was folded neatly and sealed. “This is for our child, when they are old enough to understand why I did what I did. I started writing this when we found out you were with child.” He touched his hand to her belly and stroked it gently.

“What kind of lies have been writing this child?” she jested and it made him smile. If only for a short moment. The air all around them was thick with grief and sadness. “You had a lot to say.”

“I have more to say still,” he told her. He paused, swallowed thickly, chewed on his lower lip and then cleared his throat before he spoke again. But his voice broke from emotion anyway. “You will tell him or her of me, won’t you? Not just the bad things. The good things too.”

“Bad things? What bad things would those be? Do you think so little of yourself, Rhaegar?”

“I am not a good man, Lya.”

“You want me to let go of the guilt I feel, yet you won’t let go of yours. Do not let it eat away at you, Rhaegar, please. Not now when you’re headed into that nest of adders,” she pleaded. She pressed her hand to his heart. “You are a good man, as true and as genuine as I have ever known, no matter what you may think of yourself. Look at what you have done here for the people who live on this island and the people you employ. You have changed their lives for the better. You have given them more than they could have ever hoped for. You’ve endeavored to make changes and you have done so successfully. Do you think the cook in this castle ever thought his son and daughter would one day know how to read and be afforded the opportunity to rise above their station in life?”

Rhaegar shook his head at that. “Our child,” he said, “tell them I love them. With all of my heart. I do.”

“You can tell them yourself. You will get to hold this child in your arms when it is born and tell them you love them. You will be able to tell them stories and lie through your teeth about our meeting at Summerhall.”

 _“Embellish_ the truth,” he corrected her and she rolled her eyes at him. And she meant to laugh at what he said, but tears came instead, spilling down her cheeks and she felt herself choke on her own breath.

“Come here.” He pulled her up onto his lap and she wrapped her arms around him as he wrapped his around her. “I hate to see you hurting. I hate to see you cry.” He kissed the side of her head and she tightened her embrace.

 _I can’t help it. My heart is broken,_ she wanted to reply, but she knew his heart was broken too. It would do neither one of them any good to wallow further in their misery.

“Sing a song for me,” she asked tearfully, “before you go. The one you made for me.”

She felt his lips tug into a smile when he kissed the side of her head again. “My featherbed is deep and soft, and there I’ll lay you down,” he began. His voice was soft as a whisper, his lips moving by her ear. “I’ll dress you all in yellow silk, and on your head a crown. For you shall be my lady love, and I shall be your lord.” Lyanna tightened her arms around him. “I’ll always keep you warm and safe, and guard you with my sword.”

“And how she smiled and how she laughed, the maiden of the tree,” Lyanna continued with him, their voices mingling together, though hers was shaking. “She spun away and said to him, no featherbed for me. I’ll wear a gown of golden leaves, and bind my hair with grass.” She pressed her lips to the corner of his mouth and then gazed into his eyes. “But you can be my forest love, and me your forest lass,” she finished the song on her own.

“I want a lifetime with you,” she said laying her head in the crook of his neck. “I want a lifetime by your side, and a lifetime of fighting with you and a lifetime of promises and freedom with you and a lifetime of loving you. This is what I want. A lifetime of dreams and a lifetime of you. I want it all, the good, the bad and all that exists in between.”

“I love you,” he whispered, pulling away from her, looking into her face. “And whatever happens, know that I have been the luckiest man in the world.”

“And what do you think that makes me if not the luckiest woman in the world?”

He patted her hip gently. “Come. It’s near time for me to be away.”

 _I may never see you again once you are out of my sight,_ she wanted to say to him, but she pushed her dark thoughts away. She stood and smoothed her cotton dress down. He stood too and donned his jerkin. The black leather was old and faded, peeling in some places. Lyanna pushed his hands away and laced it for him while he watched her. When she was done he kissed her hand and picked up his old ratty cloak that was barely a cloak anymore. He threw it over his shoulders and she fastened it with for him. He did the same for her when she pulled her cloak about her.

When he was done fastening her brooch, he slipped the finger he wore his marriage ring about under her chin and lifted it. “I know just how difficult this is for you. It is for me too. But I would take a smile with me, my darling,” he whispered. She could do this for him. This was all he asked of her, a smile. And so she smiled her best smile for him.

“Thank you,” he said smiling back at her, then kissed her lips once and then again and again and again. “All will be well. You’ll see.” She did not know if he was trying to convince her or convince himself.

Down in the yard, Arthur was waiting along with Oswell and Myles. Elbert Arryn had left some days before and if the gods were good, he would make it safely to his destination.

“Ser Oswell,” Rhaegar said, and the knight took a knee before him and bowed his head. Rhaegar was not speaking to his friend or a man he considered a brother. It was the prince speaking to his Kingsguard. “Rise,” he said and Oswell Whent did as he was bid. “I am leaving her between your capable hands. There is none more precious in my life than her, ser.”

“I will get her where she needs to go and protect her with my life if need be, Your Grace, I do so swear,” Ser Oswell replied.

“Thank you, my friend.” The two men embraced briefly. Rhaegar looked at Lyanna after that. “You will renew the promise you made me here, before him.”

She nodded. “I will heed your words, Ser Oswell. I do so swear.”

Rhaegar looked at Myles who nodded at him. “With my life,” he said without any prompting. Both Myles and Oswell would head to King’s Landing once Lyanna was safe with Ned and their northmen.

"Keep your dagger on your person at all time, Lyanna," Rhaegar reminded her.

"I will," she said. Her gaze flickered to the Sword of the Morning. "Ser Arthur, please keep him safe."

“I will, Your Grace,” he said. “I will make sure he returns to you.”

She embraced Arthur as she would have embraced any of her brothers. This was what he and Oswell had become to her these years. “And you come back safe too.”

He smiled. “I will. If for nothing more than to see this one have his hands full with the little one when it is born.”

Rhaegar scoffed at that. “Sometimes, I wonder whose side you’re on,” he mumbled.

“On your side, always. As you well know. It doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy a laugh at your expense every now and again,” Arthur replied with a shrug.

Lyanna smiled at that and everyone retreated back to give her and Rhaegar room for their goodbyes. “Stay safe, please,” she said. “Don’t take unnecessary risks.”

“And you do the same. Stay safe. And I will be back before you know it.” She wanted to go in his arms, but if she did, she thought she would lose all her resolve to remain strong. She did not think she would be able to let him go. And perhaps he felt the same as her, she thought, when she saw that he did not move to breach the small distance between them. This separation was unlike the others they’d had. Rhaegar gave her one last lingering look before he nodded his head and turned away from her. “Let’s go, Arthur.”

Lyanna watched them walk away, their cloaks flapping in the cool sea breeze. “My lady,” Oswell said, “we should get back.” She nodded at that and just as she turned around and began to take her first steps toward the castle, she felt it. A sharp movement on the right side of her belly and then another to the left side of it this time. She stopped and put both her hands there, on either side.

“My lady?” Oswell looked at her with concern.

 _“No!”_ She turned back around and looked for her husband. “ _Wait!_ _Rhaegar, wait!”_ she yelled out. But he was already out of earshot and the wind and the sound of the waves drowned out her voice. “Rhaegar. I need to see Rhaegar. Now,” she said before she gathered her skirts up and began to run toward where Rhaegar had just disappeared around the bend to where Dragonstone’s small harbor lay.

 _“My lady!”_ Oswell shouted behind her and she heard his feet pound in the sand behind her. She suspected Oswell’s auburn locks would turn to grey before he had the chance to rejoin Rhaegar and Arthur.

The ship Rhaegar was going to sail away on would be casting off soon and she had to reach him. Oswell was running beside her now and then past her, toward where the docks were. He had longer and stronger legs than she and the benefit of not being with child. With every step she had run, Lyanna had worried that she might trip and fall and harm her babe.

She slowed down to a walk when she reached the landing and tried to catch her breath. The babe gave another kick on the left side, followed by another on the right and then two simultaneous kicks on both sides. She stopped and put one of her hands there and looked down. When she looked up again, she saw Rhaegar disembarking from the ship, followed by Oswell and Arthur. Both Kingsguard stopped while Rhaegar came striding toward her, looking concerned.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

Instead of answering his questions, Lyanna took his hand in hers and placed it on her belly where she felt their child move. He startled, Rhaegar did, when their babe moved again and he removed his hand quickly from where it had been pressed then looked up from her belly to her face, somewhat mystified. “Oh,” was all that he said before his face bloomed into a wide smile. “I thought I would miss out on this,” he said.

“Here,” she said, “you can feel it on this side too. _Right_. . . here.” She took his hand once more and placed it where she felt the child quicken. His hand remained there this time, until the babe finally quieted.

Rhaegar pressed his forehead to hers. “Thank you. Thank you for giving me this.”

“Remember how I love you,” she whispered to him.

“Always,” he whispered back before he let go of her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the final reminder that this story will be entering hiatus while I read Fire & Blood. And if I'm being honest, I do need a bit of a break from this. 
> 
> I don't know how long it will be before I post the next chapter because I do still have kinks to work out with regard to the characters that will come in next and I have to be careful how I go about it so that I don't confuse anyone. With that said, I urge anyone who doesn't want to miss the next update to hit the subscribe button. 
> 
> I will tweak the previous chapter some when I have a chance to eliminate any sort of confusion as to what's flashback and what isn't.
> 
> Everyone who took the time to leave a comment on the previous chapter. Thank you, as always. I appreciate the time you took to do so. (Updates are still contingent on comments)
> 
> So yeah, I think that's it.


	35. Author's Note; an update

Hello everyone,

I thought I'd give you all a quick update as to what's going on with the story. So yes, I finished reading Fire & Blood, and then I went ahead and read twice more and I started making my notes, because yes, folks, the geek gene in this girl is very very very strong.

But I know no one cares about that, so let's talk about this story, which may undergo another title change (but I'll do that when I post my final chapter).

Good news; I mapped out my next chapters. I started working on the next chapter last night and I worked some more on "Death by Four." The next chapter in the story already has about 1,200 words to it which is not too bad a start. Ideally, I would want to have 2 chapters written before I post the next one just because it allows me more time to go and correct things, make adjustments and so on.

If the next chapter is not posted next week, then it will be posted after the new year because I will be going back home to see my family for the holidays. It doesn't really give much time for writing, much less do anything else.

Here's an idea what's coming up.

Chapters;

33 - Queen You Shall Be  
34 - Beautiful and Willful (not even written)  
35 - Fire and Blood (half-written)  
36 - World on Fire (written but not edited)  
37 - "The Promise"  
38 - Love Like That (not written and recent insert)  
39 - Dragonspawn (written but not edited)  
40 - Death in Four (written but needs a couple of tweaks in light of newly inserted chapter)

Cheers everyone and if I don't post any chapters between now and the New Year, then I wish you all joy in your lives and good health (so important) and success in your endeavors and to keep your resolutions to leave comments for fic writers. Sue me. I could not not mention it ;)


	36. 33: Queen You Shall Be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What are the scheming Lannisters up to?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this chapter will elicit a lot of moaning. Fair warning, don't complain about how if this is a Cersei/Rhaegar fic and then threaten that you will stop reading. Before you do that, read the tags.

“There are some rumors circulating that Prince Rhaegar has returned to Dragonstone,” Lord Tywin Lannister said, looking at the people assembled in his solar for what he called an informal war council. He put the parchment aside and watched it coil back in onto itself.

Cersei looked around the room with some disdain. Her uncles were here. Ser Kevan, her lord father’s eternal shadow, sucking the lion’s light because he could not make his own. Her uncle Ser Tygett, a talented tourney knight, but not much else and there was the youngest brother, Gerion, who made japes of everything. That one would have been better served at some court dressed in motley than wearing the crimson and gold of Lannister. These uncles were no lions. They were hangers-on.

And there was the Imp, sitting beside them, who seemed bored by all this. She narrowed her eyes suspiciously at him. Even a gargoyle was better looking than the abomination born of her father’s loins.

 _The puissant Tywin Lannister fathered a dwarf,_ she nearly sneered at him. Her lord father had his own failings, yet he scorned her for hers.

Cersei did not know why her father wanted her present at all other than to waste her time. He never listened to anything she ever had to say or cared what her opinion was. “Alone?” she asked him. “Is Prince Rhaegar returned alone?” She had been wet with love for the Silver Prince for as long as she could remember.

Lord Tywin raised an eyebrow at her and gave her one of those looks that always made her want to throw the paper weight he kept on his desk at his head. It was a mix of contempt and him thinking she was some sort of a half-wit. “He risked everything for the girl, even left Westeros for her sake after what Aerys did to her and the child she bore. Do you think he would leave her behind?”

“No.”

Cersei wondered if that had been the moment when her father had finally realized Rhaegar Targaryen was lost to him. For a while after receiving news of the altercation between Rhaegar and Aerys, he had kept to his plans, feverishly plotting. He had discreetly called his banners and waited patiently for Prince Rhaegar to turn up at Casterly Rock. Tywin Lannister had gold coming out from every crevice and every orifice in his body. He could field the second largest army in the realm. Her father had been more than willing to take the risk and support Rhaegar and help him remove Aerys from the throne. 

Cersei would marry the prince, she would be queen when he ascended, he had assured her. She would give the prince sons. Lions with silver manes and purple eyes and one of them would become king after Rhaegar passed from this world into the next.

This was the sort of power Tywin Lannister wanted. Craved. A grandson on the Iron Throne and Lannister control in perpetuity. He talked about Cersei’s son marrying Jaime’s daughter someday.

Cersei thought her father might even have seen his triumphant return to King’s Landing and being called before the new king of Westeros and invited to resume his position as Hand of the King once more, with Jaime freed from his vows and back in the bosom of his family, taking his rightful place as his father’s heir.

But Jaime was not coming home. He had ignored their father and his wishes and his summons altogether and remained in King's Landing by the Mad King's side.

 _More fool you, old man,_ Cersei thought snidely.

It would have been one thing if her father had kept only to those plans. But the longer Prince Rhaegar stayed away, the more impatient he became. “He meant it,” he said one day. “He meant what he said about abdicating his birthright. And for what? For that . . . for that _girl?”_

Lord Tywin had made sure she knew of his displeasure at all this after he had found out about Rhaegar Targaryen’s marriage to Lyanna Stark from Pycelle. “You had only one thing to do,” he had said to her with an irritated tone. “Are you not beautiful? Are you not rich? Did I not give you the most beautiful gowns gold could buy and the most expensive jewels to make you shine brighter? Pray, what does Lyanna Stark have that you don’t?”

“Lyanna Stark is a very nice girl,” her Imp brother had replied to that in his childish voice. “She was very nice to me when I went to King’s Landing that one time. And I thought she was very beautiful even though she was wearing breeches and no jewels. Is it true she dressed in armor and entered the lists at Harrenhal to defend a crannogman? I heard the servants say so. She’s like those warrior women from the stories. Even Jaime likes her and enjoys spending time with her. He said so in one of the letters he sent me.” It was the way he had said those last words that had made Cersei see red.

She remembered the jealousy she had felt watching Jaime race his horse against the Stark girl. It had been more than she could bear. Afterward, she had found him, shoved him in a dark corner, unlaced his breeches and gone down to her knees to remind him who it was he belonged to. Her twin had not even seemed to understand what was going.

But Jaime had always been of the clueless variety.

 _See if that half-washed northern savage does that,_ she’d thought triumphantly as she got back up to her feet. She had wiped her mouth slowly, adjusted her skirts and ran her slender fingers in her golden locks to fix them.

 _Lyanna Stark never wanted Jaime, Fool. Do you think Rhaegar Targaryen wants her because she took his cock in her mouth,_ the small voice in her head had taunted her. _She has been kissing his mouth and fucking him. He squirted his seed in her cunt. He made a babe with her. He took her away to protect her. You are nothing to him._

She had upended her drink over the dwarf’s head for his remark, for those reminders that someone else had what was promised her. “Hold your tongue or lose it,” she had threatened her brother before turning back to her father. “You made overtures to Lord Stark because you wanted to marry her to Jaime. You were going to make that savage the future Lady of the Rock, so perhaps _you_ can tell me what it was that you saw in her that you thought that out of all the maidens in the realm, that one was the best choice. It might enlighten you as to why Prince Rhaegar wanted her so badly that he married her without the king’s leave and crossed the narrow sea with her when her life became threatened.”

Tywin Lannister had given her no answer. Instead, he had leveled her with a gaze that told her she had gone too far. Those looks were always frightening and Cersei had held her own tongue after that.

Her lord father would never know how far she had gone, the things she had done to try and snag Prince Rhaegar. “Aerys doesn’t want Rhaegar to marry you, but if you make him fall in love with you, then he will choose you once he becomes king.”

It all sounded easy enough put like that. _Charm him,_ she thought. _Show him the kind of woman you are. Become indispensable to him,_ she’d told herself countless times. _Make him seek you out. Make him want you, but don’t spread your legs to him. Let him know what it’s like to want me and let him have sleepless nights in his too big bed thinking of how badly he wants to crawl between my legs._

Cersei wanted him to desire her. She wanted her prince to undress and fuck her with his eyes. She wanted the world to know that only she could trigger such feelings from their melancholic prince.

Yes, it had all sounded so easy. Cersei had been the darling of the Westerlands and when her father had summoned her to King’s Landing, she had resolved that she would become the darling of the city of kings.

She tried. She tried _so_ hard! She had been nice and generous with her father's gold. And there were countless people who wanted her company and sought her favor. 

Not Prince Rhaegar, though.

There had been that one time in the baths, when she had decided she was bold enough to step inside the men’s bath and strip down to her bare skin. The warmth wafting from the waters gave her skin a pinkish glow and she had her handmaid pile her golden curls on high to show her slender neck. She had decided it was time for Rhaegar Targaryen to understand she was not the girl of ten he had known in passing long ago. Cersei had been a woman flowered for longer than two years when her father had finally summoned her to the city.

She had the shape of a woman with her curvy hips and perky breasts. And her body was flawless. And she was Cersei Lannister, the lioness, the daughter of the Rock, the Light of the West. She was the most beautiful woman in Westeros. Everyone said so. Her aunt Genna had said that she grew lovelier each passing day.

When she walked past men, she saw lust in their eyes. It did not matter whether they were the lowest of the low born or the highest of the high born, the youngest or the oldest, married or unmarried or widowed. They wanted her and they wanted to fuck her. And she knew it as well as they did.

Why should the Dragon Prince be any different? He had a cock too and men have no willpower when it came to controlling their urges. That was why whores and camp followers existed and why there were brothels in every small and large town. Jaime certainly did not know how to control his own urges whenever they were in a room alone. He always wanted her.

Naked she might have been but for the slip that was slung low over her hips, she had thrown an arm over her naked breasts coyly when she recognized Prince Rhaegar’s voice. It grew louder the nearer to the baths he came. He always liked to soak after a long day in the training yard. Only, it had been Jon Connington who had stepped in first and looked at her frowning. “You’re in the wrong place, but I’m certain you already knew that. Dress and go.”

Prince Rhaegar had not even looked at her, not when she curtsied clumsily or when they were in the Queen’s Ballroom for the evening meal. The following day, he had gotten on his horse and left the Red Keep for Summerhall and to celebrate his seventeenth nameday in that old ruin.

If she had only known then that this one misguided action would cost her everything. Prince Rhaegar had met Lyanna Stark there. At Summerhall, she reflected with dismay. No one had known that at the time. 

After that, Rhaegar was gone more often than not and kept staying away for longer periods of time. She seldom saw him and when he was about the Red Keep and she devised to run into him, he was always polite, but she might as well not have existed for all the attention he paid her.

It had been humiliating and she did not think things could get worse than that. But she had been wholly wrong.

When she had offered the newly knighted prince her favor in the lists at the tourney held by her father at Lannisport, he had politely declined. She had taken great care in choosing the silk, the color, a lion stitched in gold thread on a black field. “Those are the Usurper’s colors,” Rhaegar Targaryen had said with a frown before turning away from her and walking toward the market that had sprung around the city.

Later, her aunt had explained to her that those colors had been Aegon the Second Targaryen’s during the Dance of the Dragons. Cersei had already known that. She had just forgotten in her excitement over the sigil she had created for their would-be children.

Cersei had it all planned. She had wanted the prince to be her champion and name her his queen of love and beauty when he won the final tilt. It would have been the perfect lead-in for the betrothal between her and the prince that her father was planning on announcing at the feast when the tourney came to a close.

But the prince had refused her favor. During the jousts he had unhorsed her uncles Tygett and Gerion and twelve more westermen before Barristan Selmy fell to him. The prince had fallen one lance short from beating Arthur Dayne and taking the winner's purse and the crown of flowers.

Cersei had watched him, enraptured, thinking that he would make an ever splendid husband as the people of Lannisport went mad for him. They had cheered for him longer and louder than they had cheered for her father. How could they not? Rhaegar Targaryen was beautiful and accomplished and one day soon, she would be his queen. Cersei felt as though she was being cheered right alongside him.

But Aerys had refused the match her father had proposed between her and the prince. He had ruined everything. And that was after she had whispered in the dark of night to her bedmates that she was going to marry the prince and become his queen one day.

They had sniggered behind her back afterward. She could never forgive them for that anymore than she could forgive Aerys for denying her Rhaegar or Lyanna Stark for stealing him from her or her father for not making good on the words he had spoken to her when she had been a little girl still.

Lyanna Stark had been sitting with a contingent from the stormlands, across from Cersei and her father and the king. Cersei still remembered that, even after a handful of years had passed. It had been the first time she’d ever laid eyes on this girl she had heard so much about. _Aye, insipid,_ Cersei thought then, as she had studied her face, watched her interact with the women and men seated around her, including Jon Connington who always looked on Cersei with nothing but suspicion and disdain after the incident in the baths.

She thought she would never see the girl again. And it was all for the good. Cersei had never liked competition. 

Then Queen Rhaella had summoned the girl to King’s Landing to attend to her.

Suddenly, the Stark girl was everywhere Cersei turned. Around every corner. Cersei saw her in Maegor’s Holdfast where the queen had given her apartments. She saw her in the Maidenvault where girls of high birth, including Cersei, were housed. She saw her in the Great Hall, in the gardens, in the yard bending the bow or tilting at rings.

Cersei would have befriended her. It had been her intention when she heard that she would be joining Queen Rhaella’s court. Lyanna Stark came from one of the oldest and proudest families in the realm. She was the daughter of the Warden of the North. A friend from such lineage would never go amiss. And she would have made Cersei look more beautiful. As a rule, Cersei never chose girls who might be deemed more beautiful than she. It allowed her to stand out even more.

_The sun always shines brighter than any torch and I am the sun._

The girl had quickly become a headache for her, though. It had not taken her long to hate her. Lyanna Stark did all the things Cersei was forbidden to do. Ser Oswell Whent taught her to bend the bow at the archery butts. Ser Arthur Dayne showed her how to couch a lance. Prince Rhaegar would stand there and watch with a smile upon his lips.

He did not leave the Red Keep any longer since the tourney at Lannisport, not even to go to Summerhall and he had taken to visiting his mother during the day, something he never did before Lyanna Stark had come to the city. And that should perhaps have told Cersei something.

Lyanna Stark had become the darling of the Red Keep, be they servants or lords and ladies, or the drecks of the city, down in Flea Bottom. The more people loved her, the more Cersei despised her.

But she never despised her more than the day she had raced Jaime and beat him. Jaime’s smile afterward had been radiant. Cersei thought he would be somewhat ashamed for losing to a girl but he said it was the most fun he’d had in a while. He did not care that he’d lost to the girl or that their lord father would be displeased once he caught wind of it. And he had not cared after Cersei had complained to him about Lyanna Stark’s ways and manner. “She’s uncouth and a savage besides.”

Jaime had shrugged at that. “She is an excellent rider. Fearless,” he had said. “She is fun to be around. And what of it anyway? What concern is it of yours that she is uncouth and savage, which she is not. Prince Rhaegar likes her well enough.”

“Do you find her more beautiful than me?”

He had given her one of those looks she hated whenever he was trying to goad her or did not want to answer a question. “I don’t know if she’s more beautiful than you. You have golden hair and hers is brown. You have green eyes and hers are grey. But Prince Rhaegar sure seems to like her a whole lot better than he likes you, so you might want to consider giving your schemes a rest before you are humiliated. And it will happen.” It had been like a slap in the face.

“Do you want her? Is that it? Do you want to fuck her?”

“She is not mine to fuck,” he had replied with a smirk. She had slapped him across the face for that, leaving an imprint. It had seemed to please him and it had only made her angrier.

“Had I known,” she said to him, “I wouldn’t have stuck your cock in my mouth. Next time you want to fuck me, think better of it and go find yourself a whore.”

 _What does Lyanna Stark have that I do not,_ she had wondered time and again during her long sleepless nights inside the Maidenvault.

And then there was Queen Rhaella. She kept the wolf girl close to her. She had given her chambers in Maegor’s Holdfast, on the same floor Prince Rhaegar’s chambers were. She gave her tasks like running her household and keeping her ledgers. No girl of five-and-ten kept the queen’s accounts. That task usually went to someone chosen by the Master of Coin.

Queen Rhaella’s actions had been more than clear. She had chosen the woman she wanted her son to marry and she had been slowly grooming her for the day when she would become queen. And while the king was being held hostage at Duskendale and Prince Rhaegar had been away with Lord Tywin laying siege to the town and trying to figure a way to have him released, Rhaella and Lyanna Stark had grown closer still, so much so that she was the only one she trusted when the time came to send messages to her son. 

Or so she would have had them believe. Cersei was convinced that Rhaella was sending the wolf girl to Duskendale because she wanted Rhaegar to remember that she existed.

Cersei had gone to her father sometime after his return from Duskendale and told him of her suspicions. “It’s Prince Rhaegar,” he had said to her. “He has wanted to make the girl his wife for a long while now, I recently found out. Aerys told him he would communicate with Lord Stark and invite him to the city after he returned from visiting the Darklyns. But we know what happened there. I have managed to convince him there is nothing to an alliance with the north. Princes marry for duty, I had to remind him, not love. There was a letter from Lord Stark inquiring about the possibility of a match. I burned it and nothing will come of it.”

 _What a jape,_ Cersei thought looking at her father who was listening intently at Ser Kevan.

That had been the moment she had decided the girl’s dying would be for the good. She could not take the chance that Rhaegar would manage to sway his father’s mind on this. Aerys had listened to Lord Tywin once. She doubted he would listen a second time.

Lyanna of Winterfell would be out of Jaime’s life and out of Prince Rhaegar’s life. Prince Rhaegar would mourn her passing, she had no doubt of it, but he would move on. Everyone moved on from loss eventually. Cersei would see to it. She would mend his broken heart and one morning, he would awaken not even remembering who Lyanna Stark was or what he might have felt for her.

She became determined that she would never again live in another woman’s shadow. It was for the others to live in her shadow, not for her to live in theirs.

She had the idea to cut the cinch belt on the wolf girl’s saddle. And she had done it. She’d made seven small cuts throughout the leather. Seven cuts for the seven gods of the One True Faith. It was clever. Truly. She’d prayed to the Stranger as she had made the last small incision.  

That saddle had never been used after Cersei had visited the stables, though. Prince Rhaegar had gifted Lady Lyanna with a brand new one, black and beautifully stitched with red thread and in silver was inlaid the direwolf of Stark. She did not know if someone had seen her, though she had been very careful, or if Prince Rhaegar had been planning on the gift.

She did not know which option was worse.

But Cersei had moved on. She had moved on from the saddle snafu to trying to feed the girl a potion that loosened the bowels. She had pilfered the potion from Grand Maester Pycelle when she had visited him last, complaining of headaches she did not have. People died of loosening of the bowels all the time, she had told herself. If Lyanna Stark had been struck down by that, no one would have suspected. She visited Flea Bottom often. She drank water from their wells and ate in their taverns and touched hands with the smallfolk. Pycelle was like to say that she caught some illness there. And if by some miracle she survived this, then she would never be able to live down the shame and embarrassment. No man ever wanted to hear or know of a woman’s bodily functions, her septa had once said to her.

That too had gone awry. Prince Rhaegar had taken the cup she had spilled the liquid into and she had been so horrified that she had taken it from him, lying that it was hers, when it had been the cup Lyanna Stark had been drinking from earlier.

He had watched her with a frown. Princes were not used to being told they could not have something they wanted. Cersei had taken two sips from her drink and that potion to prove her point. Had she drunk the entire thing, she was the one who would have died.

Even after she had made herself throw up, Cersei had been sick as a dog. She had to remain by the privy. She could not eat, could not drink. Her belly was constantly cramping and even what Pycelle had given her had done little to alleviate the pain. And even after her stomach had finally settled, she had been afraid of leaving her chambers, of being too far from the privy or the chamber pot. And by the time she was at last able to leave her quarters, she heard whispers at her back.

But her lord father always said they were lions and lions did not concern themselves with the opinions of sheep. And everyone of them, these people of the Red Keep were sheep.

Cersei had continued on with her plans for Lyanna Stark. She paid a servant girl to spread rumors. Prince Rhaegar wanted to marry Cersei Lannister because he loved her but the king would not have it. “The only reason Prince Rhaegar spends so much time with Lyanna Stark is because the king has forbidden him marriage to Lady Cersei. He cannot spend time with her without angering his lord father.”

If the prince knew of the rumors, he did not let on. He was as aloof to Cersei as he had ever been. She wore her low cut dresses that revealed the tops of her white creamy breasts and the cleft between them, but Rhaegar Targaryen may as well have been a eunuch for all that. His eyes never strayed from her face whenever she put herself in his way. He was courteous, but he had no smiles for her.

“He doesn’t want you,” Jaime had said to her. “Get it through your head. Whatever games you are playing, you lost a long time ago. To her.” He had pointed at Lyanna Stark with his chin. “Give it up before you make an even bigger fool of yourself.”

"What do you know, anyway?" she had asked him hotly.

Jaime liked Prince Rhaegar. And he liked Lyanna Stark. And whatever jealousy or anger he had felt whenever he thought of his twin marrying the prince, it was all gone. “Leave the girl alone, Cersei.”

 _No, I’ll not leave her alone. She has taken what is rightfully mine._ Nor would she tell her brother what their father had said to her about Prince Rhaegar wanting to marry that she-wolf. He would never understand and she did not want to hear him tell her he was right.

Jaime thought her a blind fool. But she saw. She saw the way Rhaegar Targaryen looked at Lyanna Stark and how different he was in her presence and when he took his seat in the Great Hall and played his harp and sang his sad songs, Cersei would close his eyes and imagine he was serenading her.

He wasn’t, though. It was the insipid, wretched northern girl his eyes constantly strayed to he was singing for.

And when Lord Tywin had told her the Princess of Dorne was coming to negotiate a match between her sickly, black-eyed, flat-chested daughter, who was even older than Prince Rhaegar, Cersei thought she was presented with the perfect opportunity to get rid of Lyanna Stark and Elia Martell. Kill two birds with one stone and her stone was at a ready.

A black scorpion in the Stark girl’s bed was the idea she had come up with. The Dornish were craven by nature. They were poisoners and used foul things all the time. It was known. The Dornish were despised and no one ever called them trustworthy.

And she would never forget how that miserable Princess of Dorne had come to Casterly Rock shortly after Cersei’s mother had died birthing that monstrosity. The dwarf with the large forehead and the stunted legs. Her mother had not even been cold in her grave that the woman had set her sights on her children. She wanted to betroth Cersei to that son of hers who bedded down with boys and pigs and whores. And she wanted to make her weak daughter the new Lady of the Rock.

Her lord father should have tied her, hand and feet, and thrown her out of the window into the Sunset Sea to teach her her place. A rebuke from the powerful Tywin Lannister who made men shake in their smallclothes had not been enough to cow that old harridan.

But her little plot, like the ones before it, had gone to seven hells somehow. Someone had informed on her. Cersei had been careful. She had sent one of the most trustworthy men-at-arms she knew. He had dressed as a serving wench and gone into Lyanna Stark’s chambers and left the scorpion under her covers. One sting and the girl would have been carried off in a pine box back to Winterfell to be buried in the cold frozen ground.

Prince Rhaegar had been the one to search out the bedchamber. She had seen him with her own eyes. He had turned it upside down and just when he was getting ready to leave, the foul thing had begun stirring beneath the linens. Had it been winter, there would have been furs on that bed and none would have been the wiser.

Cersei still remembered the look in his eye. She had seen so much anger in them and he had been pale as a sheet when he had come out of there, holding the dead thing in his gloved hand. Cersei had moved aside as had everyone else who had been milling about when the prince had burst into Lyanna Stark’s apartments.

She also remembered the look in Lyanna Stark’s eyes when they landed on her. It had not been suspicious. It had been knowing instead.

Cersei could have avoided all of this had she kept things simple and pushed the girl down one of the wells to drown instead.

She had laid low after that and had gone as far as to demand her father send her back to Casterly Rock, but he would not acquiesce.

The Princess of Dorne had come to King’s Landing. The betrothal between her daughter and Rhaegar Targaryen had been agreed upon and Cersei had cried bitter tears to see her dreams so completely and utterly shattered. She told herself that Prince Rhaegar was also lost to the Stark girl as much as he had been lost to her.

It did not stop her from seizing her opportunity and try to tarnish the Dornish woman’s reputation. _Let them hate her as much as I do,_ she’d told herself. Unlike Lyanna Stark who was known in the Red Keep and down in Flea Bottom, Elia Martell seldom left Dorne and Cersei had told all manner of tales about her. None of them flattering.

If that woman was to become queen, then Cersei would make sure no one ever warmed to her.

She had been determined they would hate her before she ever set foot in King's Landing. She was determined that anyone with a tongue would question if she went to Prince Rhaegar’s bed a maiden. And she was determined that she would remind everyone what the Dornish had done during the Conquest and how they had been given a place of honor they did not deserve even though they had warred against House Targaryen for nearly two hundred years.

But the worst blow had come from Prince Rhaegar himself. He had left the capital for Dragonstone. In protest, her lord father had said to her. Queen Rhaella had followed him shortly thereafter, taking Lyanna Stark with her and returning on her own. The Stark girl had remained on Dragonstone and there were nights Cersei stayed awake wondering what she and the prince were doing on that isle.

Turned out Prince Rhaegar had been on Dragonstone with the woman he had married after all, and something that seemed scandalous at the time now drew heavy, long, wistful sighs from every woman Cersei had encountered. It was like the songs, one of them had said, so terribly romantic.

Cersei had to swallow her pride so many times. Everything she had done had come back to bite her in the arse in some way or another.

Even with Jaime. She had the notion that he should become a Kingsguard so that they may not be separated again. She had suggested his name to Aerys herself after the death of Harlan Grandison. She had seen the king looking at her and heard whispers that he thought she was her late mother’s spitting image. It was only one more thing she could use to her advantage.

Jaime had become a Kingsguard as she had wanted him to but her lord father had resigned his Handship in anger over losing his heir, taking her back to Casterly Rock with him.

Jaime wrote their little brother every now and again and had even sent him a book on dragons. He did not write Cersei and he ignored what letters Lord Tywin had sent him.

“Prince Rhaegar will have returned to Dragonstone because he found out his lady wife’s family has been imprisoned,” one of her uncles said, pulling Cersei out from her thoughts.

“Perhaps Aerys took them to force him to return,” another uncle said.

“Aerys is not so clever do to such a thing,” her father said thoughtfully. “But. If Rhaegar is truly returned, he can remain at his seat for however long as he wants. With Velaryon’s resigning his position as Master of Ships, Jon Connington is now in charge of the royal fleet until such time as someone else is appointed. He will not lay siege to the island even if Aerys commands him to do it. Or a message will be sent to warn Rhaegar and he will have left before he puts any of his smallfolk in danger. He will go to Griffin’s Roost or any other castle he has allies.”

“Lord Rickard’s middle son has just crossed into the riverlands with the northern host at his back. Jon Arryn should be emerging from the Mountains of the Moon any day now,” Ser Kevan said. “Once the two hosts connect, they should have some forty thousand men between them. What do we do?”

“Nothing,” Lord Tywin said. “Prince Rhaegar has not reached out to me. It seems he has not forgiven me for interfering with his plans to marry the Stark girl. If Lord Stark ever emerges unscathed from the Red Keep, he will pull his northmen back. He will not go to war against his daughter’s lord. Jon Arryn may well follow Lord Stark’s lead. Hoster Tully seems to be staying out of this entirely..”

“What of Dorne and the Reach?”

“Doran Martell has called his banners. There are two hosts massing in the Passes. I doubt he will help or support Rhaegar after the way he scorned the Lady Elia. Mace Tyrell has also called his banners, but that seems to be in response to what the Dornish are doing.”

“And Robert Baratheon? Last we heard, he was sailing from Gulltown to Storm’s End to call his banners.”

 _Robert Baratheon can be buggered,_ Cersei thought. _I hope he drowns._

“I thought I could support his claim to the throne, but the man has proved to be an utter fool. If Rhaegar had been successful in calling a Great Council, then I would have thrown my weight behind Baratheon. I would have ensured others did as well. If we support Robert in this war he wants to make and he loses, then we will lose as well. These are uncertain times and I will not throw away all that I worked so hard for for a woman’s cunt.”

He looked at Cersei. “That said, there is a proposal on the table.”

“No. No. I’ll not marry him! You cannot force me to marry him.”

“I am your father and you will do as I say,” he said in a tone that brooked no argument. She wanted to scream at him, show him that he could not make her do it.

“You said I would marry Prince Rhaegar,” she reminded him. “You said I would be queen. Robert Baratheon is a drunk and a fool. You said so yourself. Why should I have to suffer him? He has a bastard daughter in the Vale and he is no prince besides. And you would see me wed to that savage girl’s leavings? He wasn’t good enough for her. I am the daughter of the Rock, why is he good enough for me? And he already said no to that proposal on the table.”

How did a woman go from being promised to the dragon to being downgraded to the stag? The thought of him pawing at her body made her shudder with revulsion.

Her father fixed her with an icy stare. “Have you been going through my correspondence?”

She made no reply to that. What did he think? Of course, she had been coming to her father’s solar and reading the correspondence he had not fed to the flames. She had to know what was going on. This was her life after all.

“Robert Baratheon will come around when he finally gets it through his head that Lyanna Stark belongs to another. This is your failure. You have only yourself to blame,” he said with that quiet voice that always sounded so threatening.

She stood abruptly. “Failure? I am tired of hearing how I failed when you are the one who set me up for failure when you decided to keep certain truths to yourself. If I had known sooner that marrying Lyanna Stark had been Prince Rhaegar’s notion. He was already married to her while he sat outside the walls of Duskendale. He was already fucking her," she said outraged. "He planted his seed in her belly . . .”

“Sit down.”

“No.” But as she said that, her uncle Tygett pulled her down and shook his head lightly at her, warning her to hold her tongue. _Sheep,_ she thought.

“I will have what I was promised. A crown.”

“Rhaegar will never marry another so long as Lyanna Stark draws breath. And she may outlive us all if the story of her near death of that fever is remotely true.”

“The fever could have made her barren,” Cersei said.

Lord Tywin rolled his eyes at her. “I am not willing to stake anything on the off chance that she may be barren. Robert Baratheon will be your lord, Cersei. And that is final. Give him children. Rhaegar will want to fix this mess with his cousin and make amends. That is his nature. And when he does that, you will insist to your lord husband that he should have a place on the small council and you will offer your firstborn daughter as bride to Prince Rhaegar’s firstborn son. You will be mother to a queen. A golden-haired, green-eyed queen. And you will resume your life in King’s Landing.”

_No. No. No. No. Noooo!!! NO!_

Wearily, she closed her eyes. Maggy the Frog seemed to float before her eyes, wrinkled and terrible and wise. It was another time, another place. _“Queen you shall be,”_ the voice from her past said to her.

She opened her eyes. “I will do it under one condition,” she said. “I want a long betrothal. I want to get to know him.”

Her father stared at her for half a heartbeat. “As you will, but no longer than a year. It is time for you to marry and breed.”

Cersei nodded at that. A year was long enough and there were many ways to get rid of a betrothed, especially one who was so fond of drink.

If Lyanna Stark proved to be barren, Prince Rhaegar may not have the choice but to look elsewhere for a wife who would give him heirs.

And if Lyanna Stark died in childbed, Prince Rhaegar would have no choice but to find another wife.

_Aye. Queen I will be._

She stood, gathered her skirts and left the solar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be titled "Beautiful and Willful"


	37. 34: Beautiful and Willful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lyanna joins Ned in the crownlands.

His sister had been the last person Ned had expected to see when he and his host had crossed into the crownlands and set up camp between Maidenpool and Duskendale. She had come under a peace banner, with an escort a hundred men strong, mounted knights, armored and armed, archers and a Kingsguard with his white cloak streaming behind him just as the sun was reaching its highest point in the clear blue sky.

She looked regal in her velvet black cloak, lined with red satin, the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen more than visible on the garment. She had pushed the hood of her cloak with one gloved hand, down from her head, freeing her tumble of brown locks. Ned did not fail to notice the circlet of Valyrian steel set with square-cut rubies she wore about her brow. The jewels looked alive in the light of the midday sun.

He watched as Ser Oswell Whent dismounted from his horse, removed his white helm and helped Lyanna down from Comet who bore a large red scar on her white coat.

Ned had been tired from his journey. He had travel north crossing the Bite in a fisher's skiff during a terrible storm. And he would have drowned if not for the daughter who had seen him safe to land after her own father had become lost at sea. He had arrived at White Harbor shivering and dead on his feet. He had remained there a few days before riding out to Barrowton with Wyman Manderly at the head of a column of knights and spearmen where the remainder of the host that had gathered at Winterfell and come south had been waiting for him.  

It had taken a fortnight to cross the bogs and the swamps of the Neck and at the end of that, Ned’s host had connected with Jon Arryn’s south of the Trident.

He had been so worn out from all that he now knew that he thought he was hallucinating Lyanna when he saw her arriving with her escort. Prince Rhaegar had taken no chances with his wife’s safety, it seemed.

Ned had wanted to see her very badly for weeks now, even more so since he’d read the letter Benjen had taken care to write him and entrusted to Martyn Cassel who had led Winterfell’s men south in Ned’s stead. Martyn Cassel had told him of Prince Rhaegar’s journey and short stay at Winterfell and the vows he had made before the heart tree in Lord Rickard’s presence. “I bore witness to it. Lord Stark, the pup, Rodrik, Maester Walys and myself all stood witness. He was with us a sennight before he took to the road again with his two companions. He is a good man, Ned. Truly.”

Ned had never had any doubt as to what Rhaegar Targaryen’s nature was. Even now, after all that had happened, he did not doubt for an instant that the prince was a good man. It was everything that happened that had left Ned with a bitter taste in his mouth.

“Brother,” his sister said by way of greeting.

“Sister,” he replied. He did not know if he ought to kneel to her.

“We must needs speak before I meet with the lords,” she told him, saving him from having to make that decision.

“Martyn, see to my sister’s men. Have the lords join us in my pavilion shortly, please,” Ned said.

“I would like Jon Arryn’s maester to be present as well,” Lyanna said.

“Aye, my lady.”

Ned led his sister inside his quarters. Oswell Whent and a maester followed them inside and stood by the flap. “I have missed you,” she said to him, throwing her arms about his neck and embracing him tightly. She pulled away from him and stared briefly at his face before she turned away. “May I?” she pointed at the apples on the table that was strewn with maps. Ned nodded at her. “Thank you. I am famished,” she said pouring herself water in a clean cup before she took an apple and bit into it. “Are you planning war?” she asked him pointing to the maps.

“Do we need to go to war?” he asked her.

“To retrieve Father and Brandon?”

“Aye. To retrieve Father and Brandon.”

“Rhaegar is handling it,” she replied taking another bite from her apple. “Maester Gyldayn, my husband’s letter, if you would be so kind.” The maester searched out his satchel and handed a sealed letter to him. Ned broke the hardened red wax and read it. Prince Rhaegar’s letter was short and straight to the point. He was planning on freeing his good-father and Brandon, taking Aerys in hand and calling a Great Council. It all sounded so easy put on paper like that. The prince was also asking him to keep Lyanna safe. Ned looked at her for a long moment, with her apple in her hand and her circlet on her head and that cloak with the three-headed dragon that was staring back at him.

“Benjen wrote me of things that happened and Elbert Arryn told me what happened with Brandon and of his journey to Pentos,” Ned told her. “But I would hear the rest from you, Lyanna.”

“Maester Gyldayn and I will be outside,” Ser Oswell said. “Your Grace, you must needs rest after this.”

“I will. You have my word.” She touched lightly to her belly, before she turned back to him. Ned took her hand in his and led her to the bench. He thought she looked tired.

“Where did you come from?” he asked her.

“Dragonstone. We returned from Pentos near two moon’s turns ago. Rhaegar left and I remained there until we received word that your host had finally crossed the Neck. We boarded a ship two days ago and rode to find you. It was Rhaegar’s idea that I should join you. He thought that if you saw me and knew I was well, you would stand down and let him handle the situation in King’s Landing rather than lay siege to it. Now that I’m here, Ser Oswell and Ser Myles will be joining him and his other men to take King’s Landing.”

Ned stared at her for a beat. “Where is Prince Rhaegar right now?”

She shrugged at his question. “Rhaegar is where he needs to be. He has been preparing for this since we left Westeros. He has allies and voices he will be able to count on when he calls the Great Council. Jon Connington was made Hand by Aerys and has taken charge of the royal fleet after Rhaegar took Lucerys Velaryon and forced him to resign his position on the small council. He has men from the riverlands, Dorne and the stormlands at his back as well as the Kingsguard. He has weapons stashed in the city and and once they are freed, he will be able to count on the northmen who traveled with Father to the capital --”

Ned nodded his head at that. This all sounded well and good, but what if it all went wrong? Jon Connington was one of Prince Rhaegar’s nearest friends, but Lord Varys was ever by the the Mad King’s side,  whispering in his ear. What if he exposed those plans? What would happen then, Ned wondered. Would his father and brother be executed? Would the prince? Would Aerys go so far as to have his own blood killed as a warning to the realm?

Aerys had not hesitated in sending sellswords after Lyanna while she was with child. Finding that out had shocked Ned. Benjen’s letter had contained much and more, like the revelation that their sister had entered the tourney under the guise of the Knight of the Laughing Tree.

Ned could scarce believe what he had been reading. “I am sorry for your loss. The babe. Ben wrote me about that and all that happened at Harrenhal. Howland Reed was grief-stricken to find out.”

Lyanna sighed. “It wasn’t his fault. ”

“I told him as much,” he said. “I can’t believe what you've done, though. Gods be good, Lyanna. Why?” he asked her. “How much trouble do you think you would have been in if you had been unhorsed?”

“I don’t think I would have been in near as much trouble if everyone in the stands had seen who I was. Sometimes, I wish I had been unhorsed. If Aerys had seen me then, he may not have thought me such a threat. Any talk of treason would have ended because I would have been able to explain why I entered the lists at all.” She sighed. “After entering the lists, not allowing anyone to know who I was may have been the single stupidest decisions I made.”

Ned sighed at that. “You were coming from a good place,” he amended.

She snorted at that. “Have you noticed it that ‘coming from a good place’ somehow always gets me in trouble?”

“It does. Doesn’t it?”

“When Rhaegar found me after I had left the field, he said I had made him proud. But everything that’s happened since then has felt like punishment. I almost died, I lost mine and Rhaegar’s babe, he felt he had to take me away from Westeros and out of Aerys’s reach to protect me. Brandon rode heedless to King’s Landing and spoke words of treason. Father has been taken prisoner because of that and you have marched northmen south of the Neck in preparation for war. I never thought . . . not in my wildest dreams that . . . I could not be sorrier. For all of it. It's like being kicked in the teeth repeatedly.”

“Did Aerys know?”

“That I was with child? No. He did not. No more than he knew about the marriage. He found out about the babe in the scathing letter Rhaegar sent him. I hear there are songs being made about this, about a king who was so jealous of his son that he slew his grandchild as revenge against him.”

“I’ve heard some variation of that from some singer at the inn at the crossroads.” By then he knew what had happened. It had hurt his heart to hear it. “I don’t fault you for wanting to help, Lya. But I fault you for lying about something as big as a wedding. To the prince, no less. We love you. We would have stood by you. And by him as well. This is what I cannot understand, that you would keep such a momentous event in your life a secret from your family. Why? You had the opportunity to tell me of it twice and you chose not to.”

“I know. It did not feel right to tell you while Father was still in the dark,” she explained. “Rhaegar wanted to go to Winterfell himself.”

“Rhaegar was on Dragonstone a year, Lyanna. He could have gone north.”

“We know and he would have. But we thought Father would be present at Harrenhal. When Rhaegar started planning the tourney, he thought Father would be there. That was the reason I went to Winterfell. To ensure he would be going. But I arrived there to the news that Robert Baratheon was going to be my husband. I found out Father was leaving for the mountains to settle some dispute over a mule between the Norreys and the Flints.”

“Over a mule?”

“Aren’t their disputes always over a mule?” she asked him.

He chuckled. “No. It’s not always over a mule and you are terrible for saying so. They are here, better not say that within their hearing.”

“I had this fever dream after I took that arrow. It was war. There was blood everywhere and screams of pain and agony. Of men dying. Robert killed Rhaegar in combat. And you stood there over us and watched him take his last breath. You did nothing to help him," she said with a soft voice. "I could not understand why you would do such a thing, take up arms against my husband. You had chosen Robert over me. It hurt me _so much_ and I hated you for it. You chose Robert over me before and then you chose him over me in that dream. And I wondered if you would choose him over me this time as well.”

 _Robert._ It always circled back to Robert. Somehow. Ned had no greater regret than bringing that proposal to his lord father. He should have spoken to his sister first. This was a wrong he could never right and he too had set some of the troubles they found themselves in into motion. He should have known better.

They’d all played their roles in this rather spectacular mess.

Ned had been a boy of eight years when his father had sent him to the Eyrie. All his life, he had known only the north and Winterfell. He had never traveled further than Castle Cerwyn, never spent more than a fortnight away from his family’s seat.

Leaving for the Vale had been like going on an adventure. He had been excited, but also frightened to leave the safety of his home. His father was sending him away from his lady mother, his brothers and the sibling he had loved best. Even after all these years, Lyanna was still the one he always missed the most. Perhaps it was her infectious laugh or the way she undertook everything with gusto and enthusiasm.

For a long time, Ned thought Robert would give her the freedom she craved to do the things another husband would not allow her to. Lyanna loved physical activity. She loved to ride her horse and run and sword fight and she had wanted to learn to tilt at rings so badly. And Robert had always loved to hear those stories about her and Ned had indulged him whenever he asked. His friend had been half in love with her before he had ever laid eyes on her. Ned had delayed bringing the proposal to his father, but even then, it had seemed like the perfect match to him. And Lyanna had been no stranger to the stormlands having lived there near four years.

Ned thought Robert would be the best husband his sister could ever ask for. _I shouldn’t have gotten involved in this,_ he thought for the thousand thousandth time.

News from the rest of Westeros had always filtered more slowly into the Vale. It was more isolated with the mountains of the moon to the west and the narrow sea to the east. Life was slower there, quieter, even more so than at Winterfell.

Ned had found out about his brother and father’s arrests before he’d found out about Lyanna’s marriage to the prince. And even then, the picture was wholly incomplete. There had been so many pieces missing to be able to make sense of all that had happened. He had not understood how Brandon had come to the conclusion that Prince Rhaegar had abducted Lyanna even though he’d heard of the bloodied cloak and the necklace. It had been Elbert Arryn who had shed light for him on that some days ago, after he had joined his uncle’s host.

“Lyanna would never marry him,” Robert had said when that particular news had reached them. “She was promised to me by your lord father. She would not dare defy him.”

Marriage was not climbing trees when forbidden to or hiding in the godswood to play with wooden swords, Ned could readily acknowledge that, but he also remembered the last time he had spoken with his sister. She had been wanting to tell him something, but she did not seem to be able to get the words out. She had looked so torn and terribly hurt for being separated from her prince.

“Lyanna loves him,” Ned had replied. What good did it do to hide that truth anymore? Lyanna would never be Robert’s wife now. Sparing his friend the truth as to not hurt his feelings and hoping his sister would come around and change her mind, see Robert the way Ned saw him was utterly fruitless now. For better or worse, Lyanna had taken another man to husband. A husband she had opened her heart to.

“And how would you know?”

“She told me. She loves him and he loves her and if they married . . .” What Ned had to say had not been well received. Not in the least. The flagon of wine had come crashing down to the ground. The wine ran red on the white marble floor. It had reminded Ned of blood stained snows after a hunt in the wolfswood.

And when Ned thought Robert would accuse him of keeping this life-altering news from him, he had instead turned his venom onto Rhaegar Targaryen. “Why are you defending him?” Robert had yelled at him. “He took her by force. How else would you explain the bloodied cloak?”

Ned could not explain that away and had hoped that the bloodied cloak had somehow gotten tacked onto the tale being told for drama’s sake. “Lyanna was not forced into anything. She has been in love with him for years. She was in love with him when she was summoned to King’s Landing to attend to the queen and she was in love with him during the time they spent on Dragonstone and she was in love with him when he named her his queen of love and beauty. I know my sister and I promise you, she did not do anything she did not want to do.”

But Robert would have none of it. Lyanna would never do such a thing, not to him, he had argued and his hatred of Rhaegar Targaryen had become worse and worse each day that passed. It was like a madness that had taken root inside him and festered. He was in his cups more often than not, he chased after wenches, could bed two or three at once. He spent some of his nights in brothels and taverns and told anyone who would hear him that Rhaegar Targaryen had kidnapped his beloved and was doing unspeakable things to her body.

“More fool you if you think she would do such a thing, then,” Robert had said to him one day. “Everyone thinks Rhaegar Targaryen is some honorable prince. Stealing another man’s betrothed is not honorable.” 

Ned had not known then how long Lyanna had been married.

“If I told you once, I told you a thousand times. You don’t know my sister the way I do. Aye, she is beautiful. But she is willful as well. You only ever saw her beauty, not the iron underneath. You have deliberately chosen to ignore her strength and how stubborn she is and the other things I’m assuming you found unpleasant or uncomfortable about her and decided to focus on what you like of her. You cannot claim to love someone if you do not know them. You love every part of them or you don’t love them at all.”

Robert did not deserve Lyanna after all, Ned saw. What Robert wanted was a beautiful wife on his arm who was obedient and laughed at his japes. Lyanna was more like to roll her eyes at Robert’s japes and harangue him for his drinking than pretend to be someone she was not to please him.

And she and Rhaegar Targaryen both had pricked his pride.

The atmosphere at the Gates of the Moon had become unbearable. One day summons had come for Ned from King Aerys. He was to travel to King’s Landing and renew fealty with the throne. Jon Arryn cautioned him against going, but Robert had been ready to ride there and ready to bring his grievances against Prince Rhaegar to His Grace.

Jon Arryn had mercifully forbidden him from going anywhere. And just when Ned was preparing to return to Winterfell, Aerys had sent another raven. This time, he wanted Ned and Robert’s heads.

Jon Arryn called his banners.

And Robert got his wish.

Ned had just reached Sisterton when he heard news of Marq Grafton’s death at Robert’s hand. Ned wanted to get his father and brother back. He wanted to reunite with Benjen in the north before he left for the Wall and he wanted to see his sister again.

And Robert wanted to kill Rhaegar Targaryen and every one of his friends.

Ser Marq had been the first and Ned dreaded to find out who would die next.

“Fever dream?” Ned asked her. He could see that she did not want to speak of it any longer. “I would never take anyone’s side over yours, Lya. I did not choose Robert over you. I just thought he would be good to you in the way that you deserved.”

“I hate him,” she said. “I liked him well enough before I found out what he was. After that I wanted nothing to do with him. Now, though . . . I just hate him.”

Ned understood that. He could never hate Robert. He would never be able to bring himself to that point even though he now saw things he had never seen in his friend before. He understood better why Lyanna could not stand him. While Ned had always had very little patience for the drinking and the wenching, he had none for the tantrums and the illogical reasoning. If they had become wedded, Robert would have made a fool of Lyanna soon or late. That marriage would have become something of a mêlée, Ned had no doubt of that now.

“Does he make you happy, Prince Rhaegar?”

The question made her smile. “No one has ever made me as happy as he has. We know what we have isn’t given to everyone. Perhaps it’s the reason we’ve held on to it so tightly and have tried to protect it as best we could. There is no one in the world I love more than I love him. No one in the world knows me the way he does and no one loves me the way he does.”

“Is he good to you?”

“What do you think?” she returned the question.

Ned looked at her and smiled. “I think he is.” Everything had been so ill done and Ned could not help but wonder where and how things would be now had everyone known the truth of this marriage much sooner.

“I am with child,” she said. “Just a little over five moons now.”

It explained why she looked tired, Ned thought. But he also saw the smile there. It lit up her face in a way that made Ned want to weep for all the heartache and pain she had been made to suffer. “Rhaegar felt it move before he left Dragonstone,” she said. “I wanted him to leave even less after that. As dreary as Dragonstone is, it was the place where we were happiest. It almost seemed fitting that we would attach another happy memory to it.”

“Do you think it will be a boy or a girl?” he asked her.

“Rhaegar thinks it’s a girl. I don’t know. Sometimes, I think it’s a boy. The way he kicks, so hard, like he’s already trying to come out. Other times, I think it’s a girl when I feel her move so softly, just brushing against my hand so lightly.”

“Perhaps it is a girl with your temperament. She kicks hard, then does it softly to try and lull you into a false sense of security.”

“Gods be good, Ned. Can you imagine? I'm exhausted just thinking about it.”

“You can consider it pay back for all the things you’ve done from the moment you could walk.” It made her giggle. _This is nice,_ he thought. It almost felt like old times if he could forget for a small moment all the upheaval around them.

“I wouldn't trade this child for anything. I don't have to tell you this stays between us. I would sooner no one finds this out until Rhaegar and I are reunited.”

“Of course. I’ll not breathe a word of it. Is that the reason the maester is traveling with you? The pregnancy?”

“Rhaegar would have made sure he was with me even if I wasn’t with child. Maester Gyldayn was the last maester to serve at Summerhall. He was the one who helped bring Rhaegar forth into the world. The man has nerves of steel and Rhaegar trusts him and he trusts his counsel. He wanted me to have him with me.”

“Is that why Ser Oswell said you should rest?”

“Ser Oswell is my sworn shield,” she explained. “He has been since I set foot in King’s Landing. He was the one who found me and did all he could to ensure no harm came to me at the hand of those sellswords until Rhaegar and Ser Arthur, Jon Connington and Myles Mooton arrived to help us. His family sheltered us and he was there when I bled out my babe. He has been a friend and a brother but the responsibility Rhaegar gave him is such a thankless one. When this is done, he will be leaving with Myles to join Rhaegar with most of the men we rode in with.”

“Your Grace,” Ser Oswell poked his head inside the pavilion. “Lord Arryn is waiting without.”

Lyanna stood from the bench, adjusted the clasps of her cloak and smoothed it down. Ned could see it now, her rounded belly, hidden beneath the layers of clothing she was wearing. He would never have noticed had she not told him.

She nodded her head at Ser Oswell who let Jon Arryn in with his maester as well as northern and Vale lords. Maester Gyldayn and Oswell Whent followed by Myles Mooton. All three stood behind Lyanna. “My lords,” she greeted them. “Ser Elbert,” she smiled at the heir to the Vale. “It’s good to see you again.”

“It’s good to see you as well, Your Grace,” the reply came.

“How was your journey?”

“Uneventful.”

“I’m glad of it.”

To everyone’s surprise, he stood to Myles Mooton’s left, at Lyanna’s back, with his hand on the hilt of his sword.

But Ned knew. Elbert Arryn had confided to him that he had pledged Rhaegar Targaryen his sword and sworn him fealty when he was in Pentos. And Ned had not been surprised by that. Ser Elbert had wanted his uncle to reach out to Prince Rhaegar and ask the truth of the rumors about Harrenhal. House Arryn should support the prince, he’d said. He was the best hope Westeros had, he argued. Jon Arryn had not wanted to get involved in what he had called a family quarrel.

Yet here they all were and Ned watched his sister address the lords and explain the things that had happened. Married before the unfortunate events of Duskendale, entering the lists as the mystery knight, Aerys finding out and siccing his men on her. She had left no stones unturned.

“And where is Prince Rhaegar now?” asked Lord Cerwyn. Standing beside him was Jonelle, his homely daughter, and Lyanna’s girlhood companion. “Why isn’t he here? Why isn’t he the one speaking to us on this?”

“My husband is fulfilling his duty to the realm,” she replied. “Dorne and the Reach have given him their support.”

“And what of Lord Tywin,” Hoster Tully asked. “He has called his banners.”

“There is no love lost between Lord Tywin and King Aerys,” she said. “My Lord of Lannister called his banners several moons ago and is waiting for Prince Rhaegar’s saying so to march.”

Was that a lie, Ned wondered. The way Robert had spoken of Tywin Lannister, Ned had been certain those two had exchanged letters. And if that was the case, he wondered what manner of games the Warden of the West was playing.

“If all goes well, we will hear from Prince Rhaegar in a few days,” his sister was saying. She looked from Lord Hoster to Jon Arryn. “Where is Robert Baratheon, my lord?”

The older man gazed at his nephew, then back at her. “I have no news of him since he sailed from Gulltown to call his banners. I imagine he will be at Storm’s End,” he said.

“I know what Prince Rhaegar asked of you in the letter he sent you. I have to reiterate what he said. You must bid him stand down, my lord,” she said. “Robert Baratheon must needs return to the King’s Peace or he will be labeled a rebel and a traitor. He will lose his head for it.”

“Your Grace,” Jon Arryn said, “Lord Robert believes he is within his right . . .”

“I have nothing but respect for you, my lord, I hope you know that. But Lord Robert believes the fables he has told himself and tried to convince the realm of. Robert Baratheon has spread false tales about my husband. He has spoken of kidnapping and rape, two vile accusations that could not be further from the truth. Robert Baratheon is within his right to hate whomever he wants to hate. But spreading false information poses a danger to the realm and all who live in it. Maester Ellery?” she turned to Lord Jon’s maester. “Do you recall if you received two ravens from Winterfell shortly after the tourney at Harrenhal?”

The maester looked at Jon Arryn. “Answer her freely.”

Maester Ellery tugged at the chain about his neck and cleared his throat. “Aye, Your Grace. Two ravens came from Winterfell. One message was addressed to Lord Robert, the other one to your lord brother.”

“Did you deliver these messages into their hands, maester?” she asked.

Ned saw Jon Arryn frown. “Where is this line of questioning going?” he asked.

“Robert Baratheon is a bloody liar,” Elbert Arryn was the one who replied with an acerbic tone. Ned had never heard him speak like this and especially not to his uncle. “This is where this line of questioning is going, my lord. You still believe the sun shines out of his arse? Well let her disabuse you of that notion.”

Jon Arryn stared at him, his lips pressed into a thin line. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Elbert Arryn gave a bitter laugh. “You do not see him for who he is, is what I mean, Uncle. You never have. You have always been blind when it comes to that oaf. And there is no honor in closing your eyes to someone’s more glaring faults.”

“Aerys called for his head and Ned’s. They are like sons to me. Should I have done as he asked?”

Elbert moved forward. “You are twisting my words. Aye, protect them, but you should have gone to Prince Rhaegar when you had the chance. I saw Ser Marq’s grief-stricken parents at Gulltown and that girl he wanted to marry so badly. As bright a man as we've ever had in the Vale and his life was wasted. Robert killed him to make himself feel better.”

“You never liked Robert,” Jon Arryn said.

“I have every reason not to like him. I am your heir. Not him. I am your blood. Not him. But you chose him time and again. You have chosen your path as I have chosen mine. I swore my sword to Prince Rhaegar and that makes me his man. Not yours and especially not Robert Baratheon’s.”

Jon Arryn paled at that. “Have you been so unhappy?” he asked.

“Unhappy? No. I think disappointed is the word you are looking for.”

“My lords, I believe this issue is best solved without an audience,” Lyanna interrupted the argument. “Maester,” she prompted the grey man, “did you deliver the messages into Lord Robert and my brother’s hands?”

“Your Grace, Lord Eddard had not yet returned to the Eyrie. I left his message on his desk, in the holder where I always leave his messages. Robert Baratheon was in his rooms with a . . . one of the . . . the serving women, at his . . . his activities.” The man wiped beads of sweat from his brow with the back of his large grey sleeve. Ned felt sorry for how uncomfortable he looked.

“Maester, I don’t care who Robert Baratheon was fucking,” Lyanna said plainly. “That is no concern of mine. Now. About that letter.”

“I delivered the letter into his hands. I was there when he broke the seal and read it and I waited to see if he wished me to answer Lord Stark on his behalf. He said it was not necessary and that he would speak to him at Riverrun at Lord Brandon’s wedding.”

“Thank you, maester,” she said. “Did you receive a letter from Winterfell, Ned? After the tourney at Harrenhal. Did you find the letter where the maester said he left it?”

“No. There was nothing. The first letter I received from Winterfell was from Maester Walys after Brandon’s arrest.” He was looking at her, baffled by all this. Robert was not the most honest man nor the most honorable one at times, Ned knew that, but the lies he told were always white little lies and nothing of the sort. He did not like where any of this was going. “Lyanna . . .”

“Father sent you and Robert Baratheon a letter, informing you both that the so-called betrothal was at an end. Rhaegar and I were both with Maester Walys when he sent the ravens. Maester Ellery, here, received the letter that was addressed to you and the one addressed to Lord Robert. Robert Baratheon read his, we are told, and did not disclose the contents. Meanwhile, your letter vanished.”

“He wouldn’t . . .” Ned said. But as he thought back on Robert’s behavior since Harrenhal and he knew what his friend had done.

“Wouldn’t he?” Lyanna asked him, her voice filled with anger. “He killed Marq Grafton for no other reason than that he was Rhaegar’s friend and associate. He killed him because his pride was wounded.” She paused and looked at Jon Arryn. “My lord, Rhaegar doesn’t want war or bloodshed. He would see his plans through in a peaceful manner. What happened in Gulltown need not be repeated elsewhere. The realm cannot afford to go to war. We had a long winter. We tasted spring before the cold winds rose again. If we go to war against each other, no one will win and the realm will go hungry.”

Jon Arryn looked at her for what seemed to be a long time. “Aerys cannot be suffered to hold the throne any longer,” he finally said.

“We all agree on that much at least. Rhaegar doesn’t care how long Aerys wants to call himself king so long as there is a regent and a new small council. This was the aim at Harrenhal. He wanted to discuss that possibility and the next steps and curb Aerys’s power. These rumors unlike the other ones are at least true. War need not happen.”

“I don’t believe anyone wants war, Your Grace,” Jon Arryn finally said. “But if Prince Rhaegar doesn’t have the situation under control in a fortnight, then we may have to intervene.”

“And then what, my lord?” she asked. “What will you do? Place your ward on a throne he has no right to? You see, you’re not the only one who has heard rumors. We heard these tales about Robert Baratheon wanting to become king. Some words are wind, my lord. And other words are treason.”

“I have no intention of doing such a thing. House Arryn and House Targaryen were long time allies. Prince Rhaegar is a descendant of Aemma Arryn who was King Viserys the First’s first wife. Many an Arryn and valeman served the crown and did it faithfully and dutifully.”

“Then you ought to explain all this to your ward in terms even he can comprehend, my lord.”

She said nothing after that and the lords began to take their leave. All but old Jon Arryn. “Are you coming?” he asked his nephew.

Elbert looked at Lyanna and she nodded her head at him. “Make things right with your uncle.”

Myles Mooton and Oswell Whent along with the maester were the only people who remained. “Are they all gone?” she asked. Myles Mooton lifted the flap and looked out. “Aye, my lady. There’s no one around, but my men.”

She suddenly turned around, fell to her knees and retched. The maester was beside her at once as was Oswell Whent. “Your pavilion is ready,” he said helping her back up to her feet and handing her the cup of water she had filled for herself before.

“You need food and a lot of rest, Your Grace. We crossed from Dragonstone on choppy seas and the ride here was a long and tiring one. A good night sleep should set you to rights,” the maester told her.

“It was just nerves,” she said. When Ned looked at her, he saw her hands were shaking and she was white as a sheet. “I was terrified,” she whispered. “I felt like I was going to faint when everyone finally left here. And the babe kept kicking everywhere. There was so much I could do not to put my hands on my belly. Of course, _now_ it has quieted down.”

“The child was only reacting to the stress, Your Grace. No one would ever have been able to tell you were nervous,” the maester was saying.

“You did very well, my lady,” Ser Oswell said. “I dare say you will have made our prince very proud.”

“Father would have been proud too,” Ned said. Lyanna had handled herself very well, he thought. His sister was a woman grown. It had taken him a long time to come to finally see it. She had handled herself like the wife of a prince and future queen ought to. She made him proud too.

She gazed at him. “You and I both know Father would have been mortified with the way I spoke to Jon Arryn. But thank you for saying so.”

“I’m sure there are no hard feelings on his end. I know him and I know he understands more than you know." And then, "is it true about Lord Tywin?" he whispered.

She shook her head. "We know he called his banners as early as when we left Westeros, but we don't know for what purpose. Rhaegar doesn't trust him and he doesn't want to ask for anything from him."

"What can I do?” Ned asked.

“Say a prayer to the gods of the north for the safety of those we love and the men putting their lives at risk. We have to wait and see how things go in King’s Landing,” she replied. “But Ned, if Robert Baratheon shows his face here, I will not be in the same tent alone with him. I will meet with him with men-at-arms about me and him unarmed or I will not meet with him at all. I’ll not endanger mine and Rhaegar’s child.”

“I don’t believe he would ever harm you, Lya.”

She gave him a weary smile. “He stole the letter Father sent you and lied about what he knew. He accused Rhaegar or kidnapping and rape, Ned. He knows the truth about my marriage, but it hasn’t stopped him from spinning these awful tales. I understand he is angry. He was blindsided by this. Rhaegar and I should have been honest from the very beginning, we both readily admit to this. We made a  _terrible_ mistake. How do you think he will react to finding out about this?” she asked him pointing to her belly with her finger.

The truth was, Ned no longer knew what Robert Baratheon was capable of. He no longer recognized his old friend and he was loath to admit he did not know this man he had become. And he did not know what a meeting between he and Lyanna would look like. He found himself fresh out of excuses to make.

“I know you love him. I know you are closer to him than you are to our brothers. I know you two share a bond,” she said, “but he is unpredictable and that makes him dangerous. You don’t know anymore than I do how he will react to seeing me. And I would sooner not have to find out. I’ll not leave this up to chance, brother. My priority is the well-being of my child.” She began to fidget with her sleeve, tugging at it before she sat down. She gazed up at him. “Even the arrow and the boiling wine and the hot blades did not hurt half as much as finding out I had lost my babe. There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t think of her and wonder what she would have been like. Her life was stolen from her and she was stolen from me and her father and my heart is broken for it. The place where she should be will forever be empty. I’ll not let Robert Baratheon cost me and Rhaegar this child the way Aerys cost us our daughter. I’ll not suffer him to threaten my husband or our babe. I will see him dead first. Do we understand each other?”

Lyanna was one of the strongest people Ned knew. It made him sorry for her grief. He was sorry that this was the situation they now found themselves in, worried that someone they both knew would do something unspeakable to her for jealousy. He nodded. “We do,” he replied. He did not know what to think of the letter Robert may have stolen from his chambers while he was away. Knowing his lord father had decided to undo the betrothal would have gone a long way in understand what it was that was going on.

Lyanna was his sister and the child she carried may be the blood of the dragon, but it did not make he or she less a Stark for it. It was time for him to heed her and put her first. For the love he bore her and the sake of those he loved. “It will be done as you command. He’ll not come near you unless you want him to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter; "Fire and Blood"
> 
> There was something to be said about this dread feeling in the pit of his stomach. It would not leave him, not since he had stepped onto the ship that took him away from Dragonstone. It had been part of every waking moment and whenever he closed his eyes to rest.


	38. 35: Fire and Blood

“And why should we support you?” the Lord of Mistwood had asked in a hall filled with lords that had answered his summons. Rhaegar had been somewhat surprised by the turnout when he had stepped into the hall. They had come from Cape Wrath and the Dornish Marches, he had noticed, two areas he and Lyanna had ties to.

Lyanna had been half a girl when she was sent to Amberly on Cape Wrath by her lord father for fostering. And Rhaegar had been born at Summerhall, in the Dornish Marches. It was to the Lonmouth stronghold that the survivors of Summerhall had been brought to in the aftermath of that tragedy. And this was where Rhaegar had chosen to convene the lords.

Rhaegar’s journey to the stormlands had been a last minute decision and one he had not informed Lyanna of. He did not make it a habit of keeping this sort of thing from her, but he did not have the heart to take what little peace of mind she had managed to find in the last days they had spent together.

He did not doubt for even an instant how wroth she would be with him when he finally told her.

But if he was going to gain some support in the stormlands, then the only way to accomplish it was to beat Robert Baratheon in the land he ruled. He had sent a raven from Dragonstone and a cloud of them had flown from the Lonmouth seat with his message. And if Robert Baratheon had caught wind of this and decided to show his face, then Rhaegar was determined that he would be rid of him.

Jon Mertyns's question had been a fair one. This was years of torment and guilt come home to roost for Rhaegar. He thought of Barristan the Bold scaling the walls of Duskendale to save Aerys from the Darklyns and their dungeons. He had stood there and prayed that Ser Barristan would succeed in his mission. Yet now, he wished he had failed at it. He thought of his mother whom no one could protect from the king. He thought of the men and women that had been fed to the flames. He thought of Lyanna.

His wife would never be the same. Her experience had changed her. And it chipped away at him in the smallest of ways whenever he thought of it.

Rhaegar had stared at Jon Mertyns for half a heartbeat. “His Grace is a danger to himself and to the realm. I don’t believe I have to tell you what he is called behind his back, do I?” he’d asked him bluntly. “It does not please me to say it but this is the sad reality we are faced with.”

“But honor . . .” the man protested.

“Our honor means no more than our lives so long as the realm is safe,” Rhaegar had replied.

“What happened?” Lord Caron asked. “We all heard some version of a tale. What is the truth?”

“The truth,” Rhaegar had said thoughtfully. “Is there such a thing as that anymore?” he asked. “I have always been fiercely protective of my personal life and of my wife and what we built together.” He had sighed before he had launched into what the truth was.

It had been a queer feeling to have to lay himself bare and give everyone a window into what his life had been like since that fateful day in the throne room.

But, he had reasoned, if this allowed him to undercut Robert Baratheon and take some of his power away, then so much the better. Those words had been left unsaid, though. Lord Robert was well loved in the stormlands and Rhaegar had to step up his efforts and do what had to be done.

“My lady wife and I did not dare believe it when the gossip reached us,” Lord Harrold Rogers had spoken. “How is she?”

“Lyanna is well. Physically, she is recovered from her ordeal. The scars she bares are not the ones that are visible to the eye, however. Your niece is as brave and as strong as they come, my lord. I could not be prouder of her.” Lord Rogers had been the first to kneel and put his sword at Rhaegar’s feet. He was tied to the Starks by marriage, kept the old gods just as they did. Rhaegar had not expect anything less from him.

The others present in the hall had followed and Rhaegar had ridden away from the stormlands with the sense that he had accomplished his goals. He could not help his smile as he had galloped past Storm’s End on his way to King’s Landing.

The ship he was on gave a lurch as a small wave crashed and broke against it. Rhaegar exhaled a long deep breath to settle his nerves and looked overboard at the black waters. Above them on Aegon’s High Hill loomed the Red Keep.

 _The time has come,_ he thought, as he looked over his shoulder at his companions. He threw one leg over the sideboard, his foot finding the rope ladder. He twisted around, and pulled his other leg over and climbed down the side of the ship to the fishing skiff that had been lowered to row them to shore.

He had left Lyanna five weeks past, yet it seemed as though he had spent a lifetime away from her already.

“The moon is very large tonight,” Oswell commented.

Rhaegar looked up. “It looked as large as this the day I encountered Lyanna at Summerhall,” he said with an even tone. It had been large and silver and so beautiful to behold and it had looked so so very close, he thought he might be able to reach out and touch it if he tried. It had cast its light down on them and the courtyard of the ruined castle. He remembered looking at Lyanna as she sat there by the fire with her drawings and finding her fascinating and wondering who this bold, sharp as a blade girl was.

This moon was an ominous blood-red, however, and Rhaegar did not know what to make of it.

It added to that dread feeling in the pit of his stomach. It would not leave him, not since he had stepped onto the ship that took him away from Dragonstone. It had been part of every waking moment and whenever he closed his eyes to rest. Today, it had only gotten worse as the hours trickled by.

He splashed down into the surf when the skiff neared the shore. The climb they were about to make was a long one, but this path had a secret passage that would take them directly into the castle and right below the Tower of the Hand. “Ready?” he asked. He did not wait for the reply. Arthur had made this climb thrice already, and Rhaegar had made it half a hundred times at least.

He studied the rocky face of the bluff for a moment. There were shallow niches cut in the rock that were invisible from below unless one knew just where to look for them. Rhaegar put his gloved hands into the rung right above his head and put his foot to another at knee level and began his ascent. As always, he focused his attentions on what was above him rather than what was below him. The river would be a long dizzying distance below.

When he reached the top, he pulled himself up on the solid ground. Oswell and Arthur followed him. “Still alive?” he asked trying to catch his breath. The muscles of his legs and arms burned and ached and the filthy rags he wore felt soaked through with sweat from his effort. 

“Gods be good. I never ever want to do this again,” Oswell said, lying on his back beside him. He had made the climb twice since having joined them some three days ago after he’d left Lyanna with her brother and a host of northmen and valemen. “If there’s a next time, don’t ask it of me. I’d rather die in my bed than fall to my death.”

“You’re alive, if not a little out of shape,” Arthur said.

“Say that again and that pretty nose of yours will heal crooked,” Oswell replied.

“Stop needling him, Arthur. You are not out of shape, Oswell. He’s just having fun at your expense,” Rhaegar said as he stood. “Come on.” They walked a short distance to a serpentine steps, and he climbed them two by two all the way to the heavy door of oak and iron. Rhaegar searched out the key and when he unlocked the door, he heard the bar lift on the other side and pushed it open. He stepped to the other side with Arthur and Oswell following and shut the door behind them. He found a torch in one of the sconces and took his flint to light it. He went down another set of steps across the small sunken courtyard, overgrown with bushes and wild roses and tall grass and pale ivy.

He stopped and looked around with longing.

One day, when he had still been a boy, he had decided he should find all the secret tunnels and passageways of the Red Keep after he’d read so much about them in his books. Armed with a ball of bright yarn to mark his passage so that he would not get lost, he had gone exploring. He could not have been more than seven or eight years when he discovered this place. He came here often after that, with his harp, his books, his scrolls. He spent hours here alone with his thoughts and his doubts and his dreams. And his fears.

Once he had been gone so long that the alarm had been raised inside the Red Keep. He had returned to chaos inside the castle. His mother had been beside herself with worry and his father had slapped him so hard, he’d sent him tumbling down the marble staircase. Rhaegar still bore the scars from that day, on his left arm and right above his hairline where his flesh had to be stitched closed. He had to keep to his bed for days afterward from the dizzy spells and nausea and headaches, the lingering effects of his fall. His father would not look at him for days after the incident so eaten up by guilt he had been over what he had done.

It had been much later that he’d sat him down and explained to him why he had reacted the way he did. Rhaegar was the sole heir to his House, the Crowned Prince on whom all the hopes for the future rested. Aerys had been afraid that someone had taken him or that he’d fallen somewhere and hurt himself badly. He had been afraid they would find him broken and dead and had reacted badly to it all. He had already lost two children and the thought of losing him too had been unbearable to him because he was his son and he loved him.

His father had been a very different man in those days. And Rhaegar had understood well enough his fears, but he’d never told him or anyone of this place.

Until Lyanna.

This had been his place, then it had become their place long before they married and long before they had departed for Dragonstone.

This long-forgotten courtyard had once echoed with their voices and their laughter.

He had found his courage here and asked her if she'd consent to become his wife before he had gone to Aerys.

He had kissed her here, held her in his arms here. He had played his harp for her here, danced with her to no music here, chased after her here, much to her delight. She had sung for him here. They had undressed each other here, lain together here.

This was where he had learned to live in the moment. Just as she did.

This had been a happy place for him before her and made happier because of her.

He touched lightly to his breast. Inside the pocket of his jerkin was a portrait of them she had drawn and illuminated and slipped in his bag along with his things. He had now taken to carrying it with him everywhere he went. He also had part of the letter she had sent him with Oswell. She had told him how her meeting with the lords had gone. That part he had burned, but he had kept the words of love and longing she had written him. Those he wanted to read over and over even though he had committed them to memory already.

“It’s in your blood,” Arthur had told him after Lyanna had departed Dragonstone prior to the tourney at Harrenhal. “How many Targaryens have wed secretly?” he asked him.

“A few,” Rhaegar had replied. _Plenty,_ was what he should have said instead. Men and women alike had defied the wishes of their families and kings and married. Some had married for ambition, others had married to escape betrothals they did not want and there were those who had married for love. His grandparents had been such. Aye, there had been a whole slew of them who’d chosen their own paths when it came to marriage.

Every one of his grandparents’ siblings had undone their betrothals, the Crown Prince included. He had taken to wife Jenny of Oldstones and relinquished his birthright so that he may be with her.

The Laughing Storm had not taken kindly to the slight and risen in rebellion.

The wheel of time seemed to have brought them back to that same place decades later. The Baratheons were not men to go quietly, then as now. But Rhaegar knew how to rid himself of that particular headache.

“How is she?” he had asked Oswell when he had joined them. He had been sitting at a wobbly table up at one of the inns of Eel Alley, an oilcloth in one hand and his very new Valyrian steel sword in the other.

Rhaegar had never been one for weapons, but even he had to admire how beautiful the sword was. His years-long quest for Valyrian steel blades and reforging them into this sword had been well worth it. He had chosen a hand-and-a-half longsword and hoped it would serve him well whenever the time came for it. The master armorer had even said there was enough left over to make a second one.

 _Truth,_ he’d named this sword. It had seemed fitting after the way he had blundered. He had learned a lot and liked to think he had grown from his experiences. Never again would he lie about something that would affect those he loved and the realm at large.

“She is well,” Oswell had replied with a shrug. “She complains that the child will not let her sleep, but the sickness seems to have passed for the most part. She rose to the challenge brilliantly, Rhaegar. She was a queen.”

“I never doubted she would be anything but,” he had replied with a small smile. “Does she take care of herself?”

“She does. She eats well, she rides her horse a couple of hours every day, she walks a lot and she rests when she is tired. She does all that is asked of her, though she dislikes that the maester is always following at her heels. I thought she was going to toss him overboard during the crossing when he told her she would catch her death if she didn’t get back in her cabin.”

It had made Rhaegar laugh to imagine the look she might have given the maester.

“She has been humming that song you made for her to her belly,” Oswell had said to him.

“Has she?”

“Constantly. She misses you.”

Rhaegar looked ahead as they crossed through the courtyard and into a deserted corridor. Empty suits of armor stood sentinel along the walls. They were relics from the time of the dragons and their keepers, black steel with dragon scales cresting their helms, now dusty and forgotten.

They went up a stair and into a tower. Rhaegar threw the torch he had been using to light their way aside and pushed the trap. He found himself at the bottom of the stairs behind the Tower of the Hand. One hundred steps separated them from Jon Connington’s apartments and solar.

He pushed another door open when they reached the top floor and stepped into the spacious room. Myles Mooton and Richard Lonmouth were both at different windows and Griff was sitting in a chair, waiting. “Took you long enough,” he said with a gruff tone. “There’s a basin to wash the dye from your hair, clean garb and all of your armors.”

Rhaegar had decided that when he came before his father, he would do so as himself, silver-blond hair and eyes that were their true color. No sooner had he washed his hair than the Spider stepped into the chambers.

He stared at him for half a heartbeat, before he returned to his basin. He washed the dye from his beard and brows, the dirt from his face and took a wet cloth to his torso to wash some of the sweat away. When this business with his father was done and over with, he would drag himself to his apartments and request scalding water for his bath and scrub himself raw.

“Aerys is in the Throne Room,” Jon said.

“Do you know why?” Rhaegar asked as he took a tunic from the pile of clean clothes and slipped it on. He tucked it into his clean doeskin breeches.

“He knows you are coming. We received word today from Lord Rykker at Duskendale of the blockade at the mouth of the Gullet. The ships were identified as yours.”

Rhaegar shrugged at that. “I’m sure Aerys has been expecting me since I sent him that letter.” He had used the cogs from the Arbor to land his men in Flea Bottom. The men commanding the City Watch were his and Ned Stark and Jon Arryn had given Oswell two hundred men each, augmenting his numbers within the city to two thousand. A lot of them were within the Red Keep this night.

“He has commanded that Lord Stark, his son and the northmen be brought before him at first light to be sentenced for their crimes against the crown. The seventh day of the seventh month, he said and then called it a blessed day,” Jon said. “He said all you would take back to Lyanna was ash and bone once he was through with them.”

“He believes the northern host will be attacking King’s Landing,” Varys said.

“Did I address you?” Rhaegar asked him.

“No, Your Grace.”

“Do not mistake my tolerating your presence for forgiveness.” Rhaegar sat down and began pulling his boots back on. “Did you know my wife and I would have welcomed our daughter into the world two moon’s turns ago?”

He gazed up at the eunuch who suddenly looked uncomfortable. “No, Your Grace.”

“I did not think you would have known that. Mostly because you care very little about people so long as you achieve your objectives. Instead of holding this beautiful little girl, we had to entomb her in the crypts below Dragonstone. Lyanna’s arms have been left empty. A mother without her child is a cruel thing. She is bereft and every time I think she is getting past her pain, something happens and to remind her of what she’s lost. My father had mercifully forgotten about the mystery knight of Harrenhal. He had turned his paranoid attentions elsewhere and instead of letting things lie, you decided you would remind him of it.”

He stood and picked up his undercoat of padded leather and slipped his arms in it before he pulled it over his shoulders and began lacing it up. Off in the corner, Arthur and Oswell had stopped dressing and were listening to the conversation. “Do you know what my wife said to me two turns ago?”

The eunuch shook his head. “No, Your Grace.”

“She said her heart felt crushed by the weight of our loss. What do you think my answer to that was, my lord?”

“I don’t know, Your Grace.”

“I said nothing. What could I say that would have made her feel better? Lyanna has always been an energetic woman. Fearless. Mischievous. And there was never anything sweeter in my world than the sound of her laughter. My wife is an exceptional person. But to you, she is was not a person. She was just some plaything. Disposable. You fed her to that demon to break me.” He exhaled a long breath. “My wife and I may be heartbroken, but we are not broken. Far from it. You have not won and neither has he. And let me make this plain to you. I don’t trust you and I hate you. Very much.” He slipped his gold chainmail on.

“I understand. I have lost sleep over what befell Lady Lyanna and the babe she carried,” the eunuch said with a small voice. “I could not be sorrier for it.”

Rhaegar felt a wave of anger rise inside him. He unsheathed his sword suddenly and whirled on the Spider. “Lost sleep? Lyanna bled out the babe she carried and nearly died. I share my part of the blame in a lot of things, but this one is all on you. Aye, loss of sleep should be the least of it. Why should I spare your life? Why should you live another day when my daughter will never get to?” He pressed the point of the sword at the Spider’s throat and watched him blanch. “You crouched at my father’s side and informed on me. You lied and twisted the truth in the way it suited you. You made yourself indispensable to him. You fed his paranoia and you fed his madness. My father is a cruel man, but I think you may be far crueler than him. And for some odd reason, you believe that I am cut from that same cloth, that I have it in me to tie a man up and set him on fire to hatch dragons. Is that what he said, Jon?”

“Aye. That’s what he said,” Griff replied from where he was sitting still.

“I saved her from Cersei Lannister. When she took a blade to the saddle belt and when she had someone slip that black scorpion in Her Grace’s apartments, it was me who made certain you were informed of it. I never wanted her to be harmed. I bore her no ill will.”

Rhaegar contemplated the man for half a heart beat. “I don't care. It does not erase what you have done. Lord Stark gave me these three beautiful dragon eggs, from the time of the Dance of the Dragons. We could test this notion of yours. Dragons flying above Westeros again,” he said, “now that would be a sight to behold. Wouldn’t you agree?” The eunuch said nothing in reply. “I could tie you to some contraption. I’m sure my father has no shortage of those and watch the flames lick up your legs and I will hear you scream the same way my wife screamed that night. Would you like that, Lord Varys?”

“No, Your Grace. I would not like that.”

“Tell me, my Lord of Whisperers, why shouldn’t I kill you after all that you have done?” He nicked the skin with the tip of his sword and watched blood well there. How satisfying it would be to end him right here, right now, he thought. “It would be no less than what you deserve.”

“Wildfire, Your Grace,” the eunuch breathed out. “King Aerys had the alchemists rig the city with wildfire. Rossart and his two henchmen have . . .”

Rhaegar dropped his sword hand and stared at the eunuch, but it was Jon Connington who spoke. “Rigged the city?” he asked standing.

“I can’t say I’m surprised by this,” Rhaegar said, “I never expected he would go quietly.” He scratched at his bearded chin. “How long have you known this?”

“My little birds --” Varys started.

“I know what your little birds are. Little boys and little girls with their tongues removed. No wonder you get on so well with my father.” Rhaegar had come upon one of those children while they were moving armor through the tunnels. A dirty, smelly, malnourished boy with parchment and quill, listening, taking notes and who had bitten him so hard, he might have drawn blood had Rhaegar not been wearing gloves. He had given chase when the boy tried to escape and when he caught him, he saw the tongue had been removed. Warm food and a bath had yielded some answers to the questions Rhaegar had asked him. “I think you get some perverse thrill doing whatever it is that  you do. When did you find out of this wildfire plot?”

“I just found out.”

“Do you take me for a fool?” Rhaegar asked him. He remembered Lucerys Velaryon’s words about Rossart having ingratiated himself with Aerys all too well. He remembered how unsettled he’d felt then. “You are taking your insolence too far by lying about something as dangerous as this. The truth now. When did you find out about this?”

“Your Grace . . .”

“I asked you a question. You will answer or you will die. There is no shortage of men in this room who would gladly kill you, myself included. The choice is yours, my lord. Myles, help me with my armor, if you would.”

“Three days past. I found out three days past.”

“Was this the reason Chelsted was executed?”

“It was,” Varys said. “He found out what Aerys was up to and confronted him. He tried to dissuade him from it. He called His Grace ‘mad’ and paid for it with his life.”

“You would have me believe that half-wit found out before you did?” The chamber felt too small and too crowded and so stifling. “Richard,” Rhaegar said, “Go to Gerold Hightower. Inform him of this. Round up the alchemists. Arrest the most senior members and have the others search with you. No one is to manipulate those jars if they don’t know how. If any of you comes upon Rossart, do not hesitate and kill him. _And you,”_ he looked at Varys. “There is more than half a million people living in King’s Landing. Yet you claim to serve the realm --”

“I do serve the realm --” the Spider interrupted him.

“No. You do not. There’s a host of more than forty thousand men a stone’s throw from here and there’s wildfire across the city. You gave up Lyanna to my father with no care for the consequences. How is that serving the realm? You only leave chaos in your wake.”

“Your Grace --”

“Hold that vile lying tongue of yours, fat man. If another word passes your lips without my leave, I will have them sewn shut. I am sick unto death of you and your simpering. You make it so difficult to feel an ounce of empathy for you, my lord. You are as underhanded and as mean and as calculating as they come,” Rhaegar said. “You will help find every single jar of wildfire or you will die trying. And do not test me. My patience with you has run its course.”

“Am I still arresting the small council?” Jon Connington asked him.

“Yes. But start with Pycelle. I will not have him dispatch ravens to Casterly Rock and blab about any of this. I would sooner not have Tywin Lannister turn up at my doorstep before I am ready for him.” He turned to Richard. “If as much as one jar explodes, we will all be done for. Where have they been putting the wildfire?” he asked Varys.

“At the seven gates. The Dragonpit. The Great Sept of Baelor. The Red Keep.”

“Where in the Red Keep?” Rhaegar asked.

“Around it, near the stables, the practice yard . . .”

“I see.” His father believed he would be transformed by fire, turn into a dragon. “Well, it will not be my first brush with the substance. We need to go. The gaolers will have drunk the wine by now.” Not for the first time, he wondered why everything was so complicated. “Take as many men as you need,” he told Richard Lonmouth. “The Lord Commander of the City Watch must needs be warned of this. Word travels fast and he must be prepared should riots break out in Flea Bottom.”

“What of the Red Keep?” Myles asked. “Shouldn’t it be evacuated?”

He sighed and shook his head. “Not until Aerys has been taken. If he gets so much as a whiff that I am here, he will not hesitate to turn the castle into our funeral pyre.” He turned to Varys. “If you had spoken up when you found out, and spare me your lies that it was only three days past, we may have been able to do something about this much sooner.” He wanted to throttle the eunuch for this. “Jon, when you are done with your tasks, you are to go to the Great Sept. I will see to it that more men join you. The High Septon will be at his prayers and contemplation. He and the others will leave the sept and they are to do so quietly. Who is guarding my father?”

“No one right now. But it will be Ser Jaime soon,” Jon said.

“Richard you go right now and take our slippery friend here with you. If he so much as breathes wrong or you think he is up to no good, end him. And be wary of any children. His little birds are dangerous creatures. If you come upon Ser Jaime, have him turn heel. We need everyone’s assistance in this.” Lonmouth nodded his head at that. “I will see you on the other side,” he said. He made Varys go ahead of him and followed.

Rhaegar put his sword back in the scabbard and fastened the belt around his hips. “We must make haste. Everyone ready?” His men nodded their heads. He pressed one of the stones on the wall and a slat detached from the rest. “Good luck, Jon.”

“May the Warrior give you strength.” Rhaegar nodded at that, closed his hand around the burning torch and went first. They had two hours before the sun began to rise.

He wondered what the next hour would bring. “It will be by sheer luck if no one dies tonight,” he said darkly as he made his way down the steps and then through a long corridor to the black cells with his companions.

“Myles, make sure those two are asleep,” he told his former squire when they came upon the gaolers. He passed his torch to Oswell, produced a key and unlocked the first door. “Lord Stark,” he said, bringing light into the pit of blackness that was the cell.

“Your Grace?” The Lord of Winterfell lifted his arm to shield his eyes from the sudden burst of brightness.

“Come, my lord, it’s time to go.”

Rickard Stark stepped out and looked at him uncomprehending. “I thought we were transferred down to the black cells to be executed.”

Rhaegar gazed at the other northmen being released. Brandon Stark met his eye briefly before he moved to his father, embracing him quickly. “This was my idea, my lord. Bringing you here was the only way I could think of getting you out without being seen. But I was told the king decided to hold trials in the morning. This way if you would.” He stepped ahead of everyone.

The walk felt as though it was miles long. The tunnels were a maze of stairs and corridors, some of them leading to dead ends and deep dug holes.

“You didn’t steal my sister, then,” Brandon Stark said in what sounded like an apologetic tone. The beard on him made him look like some shaggy mountain dog.

“I stole your sister, but that was years ago,” Rhaegar replied mildly, recalling that day at Summerhall.

“I don’t understand.”

Rhaegar shrugged at that. “You had to be there.” _Let him think what he wants to think._

“It seems there was a lot I was not there for,” Brandon Stark said with a hint of sarcasm.

“Shut your mouth, Brandon. You have caused enough trouble as is. I will be dealing with you later,” Lord Rickard said before he turned to Rhaegar. “Where is Lyanna now?” he asked.

“With your other son. The reasonable one,” Rhaegar replied. “Oswell and Myles saw her safely to him and your northmen. I have not seen in her a little over a moon’s turn, but I’m sure they will answer whatever questions you may have.”

Ahead of them, a light appeared. It grew as they hurried toward it. After a while he could see the arched doorway, closed off by an iron gate. He searched out the key and unlocked the door. They stepped through into a small round chamber. Five other doors opened off the room each one barred in iron. A ornate brazier stood to one side, fashioned in the shape of a dragon’s head. The coals in the beast’s yawning mouth had burnt down to embers. Rhaegar put the head of the torch in it to revive the flames.

He saw a slender figure step out from the shadows and a small shape darting past, shouting his name. Rhaegar crouched and made a grab for his brother, picking him up in his arms. “You’ve gotten so much heavier.”

“I have been eating _all_ my vegetables. Even the nasty ones,” the boy replied wrapping his arms about Rhaegar’s neck tightly. “I have missed you.”

“And I have missed you, brother.” He put Viseys down and ran a hand over his bald head. He was wearing roughspun, an old tattered cloak and a pair of boots that had seen much better days. Rhaegar did not know any longer if he should be sending him and their mother to Flea Bottom to ride this thing out.

“The septa shaved my head and Mother said it reminded her of great grandfather’s stories when he was Egg,” Viserys was saying. “Are you going to stay now? You were gone a really long time.”

Rhaegar felt tremendous guilt at the words. He had neglected his little brother, had left him at their father’s mercy and whims. While he was certain Aerys would never harm Viserys, the fact remained that his brother was an impressionable boy. “I had to stay away, but I’m back now and I’ll not be going anywhere again. Go to your septa, Vis. I need to speak with Mother.”

Rhaella Targaryen had donned the septa robes he had sent her days past. The rainbow-colored belt was looped around her waist and the seven-pointed crystal was about her neck. The veil she was to use to cover her hair was in her hand.

“Mother,” he said embracing her. “It’s good to look upon your face. I have missed you.”

“As have I, sweetling.” She was running her hands on his face and neck and along his shoulders in that motherly way when he saw the bruise on her neck.

“Stop,” he said. She dropped her arms to her side, staring at him wide-eyed. She brought her long braid to the side to cover the bruise but he took hold of her hand and shook his head. “I am not a boy any longer. Do not hide this from me,” he said with a quiet voice. He pressed down on the bruise lightly with a finger. She winced. “When did he do this?” he asked her. His fingers tugged at the collar of her white robes. There were teeth marks there plain to see, purple and yellow where the flesh had been bitten and scratches. “Gods be good. Did he maul you?” He had half a mind to pull her sleeves up and look at her arms but stopped himself.

“He is your father,” she said with a shaking voice.

 _“He is a beast,”_ Rhaegar replied with a hard tone.

“He is my husband. He is allowed . . .”

“No, he is not allowed. You’ll not have to suffer him any longer. Whatever happens tonight, you will be free of him. If this works, you get to come back and live without his shadow hanging over you. If things go awry, you take Viserys and go where the blood of Valyria is strong and you get lost there.”

“I refuse to believe this will go ill,” she said. “I half expected to see Lyanna with you.”

“Believe me when I say it was not for lack of wanting,” he replied.

“How is she?”

“She is good. Mother, you will perhaps remember Lord Rickard Stark, Lyanna’s father?” He motioned Lord Stark to come closer.

“I do,” Rhaella said. “It has been a long time, my lord.”

“It has, Your Grace,” Lord Rickard replied, bowing to her. “My son, Brandon,” he shoved his son in front of him.

“Your Grace,” Brandon Stark said with a very subdued tone.

“My lord,” the queen replied politely, but all the warmth her voice had held was gone. Rhaegar knew his mother and he knew that icy tone she took whenever she disapproved of something or someone.

“Lord Stark,” he said, “there are clothes and armor and swords for everyone. You and your son will be leaving with my mother, my brother and the good septa. There are septon robes for you, with compliments from your daughter.” He smiled slightly at that. Lyanna thought septon and septa garb would go unnoticed in the city and Rhaegar had agreed with her notion.

“I’m assuming she had a good laugh at our expense,” Brandon said.

“It was a good laugh she had at _your_ expense,” Rhaegar replied mildly. “There is a problem, however, which leaves me unsure how to proceed with this.”

“What is it?” his mother asked.

“Aerys has rigged the city with wildfire,” he told them.

“Wildfire?” Rhaella asked breathless. “No. No. You can’t go. He becomes unhinged whenever your name is mentioned. He is intent on fire and blood, Rhaegar. He will burn you alive if he manages to get his hands on you.”

Rhaegar gave her an irritated look. “I think we’re well past the days when you could tell me what it is that I can and cannot do,” he told her. “Ser Gerold has been made aware of this. I have dispatched men to round up the alchemists, but I’m afraid Flea Bottom will go up with riots whenever the news reaches the smallfolk. Lord Stark,” he turned to his good-father, “would you consent to lend us your men. Myles will lead them. I know he is young, but he is very capable and knows how to command men and respect.” Myles was bold as brass. Always had been. He may blush and stammer like a maid where women were concerned, but he knew how to speak to men and he knew how to use a sword.

“Brandon and I will lead them,” Lord Stark said. “Your young man can show us the way.”

Rhaegar nodded at that. “You’ll be better served with mail and armor in that case. Mother, you will leave the city through the sewer. There are Redwyne cogs anchored by the Mud Gate and crewed with my men. They will know you, you go on one of them and you stay there until this mess is dealt with. I will send Oswell with you.”

“No,” she said firmly. “I know the way and you need your men about you.”

He liked this not. But he did not want to argue with her and every second they spent here brought them closer to the sun rise. He waived Myles over. “You will go with Lord Stark, his son and his men. Start at the sept and then the Dragonpit.”

“Aye, Your Grace,” Myles replied. “And the gates?”

“They’ll have to keep until the morning.”

“She knew exactly what she was talking about and what she was asking me that day,” Brandon Stark said with a hesitant voice and a head shake, “Lya.”

“What of her?” Rhaegar asked him.

“I cannot go with you, my lord,” he told his father. “Lyanna. When we were on our way to Harrenhal, she asked me if I would answer his summons. She asked me if I would pledge him Winterfell’s allegiance and my sword, if I would lead his vanguard into war.” He turned his gaze away from his father and looked at Rhaegar. “I behaved rashly. All I could think of was what had happened at Harrenhal. I should have listened to the meaning behind her words that day. And I should have heeded Elbert Arryn. Aside from her horse, that necklace was my sister’s most prized possession. I know why now. And that wench said she had found her bloodied cloak --”

“It’s a long story and one I would sooner not have to ever tell again,” Rhaegar said. “In our haste to leave and get your sister to a maester, I forgot to pick it up.” Even after all these months, Rhaegar still found it difficult to think back on that moment when he and the others had finally found her and Oswell. 

“Winterfell’s allegiance was never mine to give,” Brandon Stark said, “but I would pledge you my sword and I would fight beside you, if you would have me. I would also like to say that I am more than sorry for the way things unraveled here. I love my sister, the thought of her being hurt or taken . . . it’s not something I --”

“There will be time enough for apologies and explanations,” Rhaegar cut him. “I know you were raised to lead, but can you also follow command?”

“I can.”

Rhaegar considered him for a moment. He had just lost Myles to the search for the wildfire. “Very well. Don your armor and find yourself a sword. We have lingered here too long already.”

Brandon Stark stretched out his hand and Rhaegar looked at it and then at him before he shook it. He watched him go before he beckoned his brother back to his side. He went to his knees before him. “Viserys, we are going to play a game,” he told him. His brother nodded his head eagerly at that. “It’s a pretend game. With your head shaved, no one should be able to recognize you. Do you agree?” Viserys nodded his head again. “If you pass anyone you know and they don’t recognize you, that’s one point. The idea is that you don’t attract attention to yourself. Got it?”

“Got it!” Viserys replied excitedly. “Lady Lyanna and I used to play these games _all the time._ She taught me how to say _m’lady_ and _m’lord_ like they do down in Flea Bottom. _”_

Lyanna and Viserys were not particularly close on the account of Aerys having kept his youngest son close to him, but there was warmth and fondness between them. “I think you are more than ready to win the game, then.”

“And what do I win?”

“Whatever you want, so long as it is a reasonable request.”

“I want to play hide-the-treasure with you.”

It made Rhaegar smile. He had never been one for games but he was willing to give this a try, if for no other reason than that he wanted to do this with his own children some day soon. “You and I, one game of hide-the-treasure but you will have to teach me the rules.”

“Two games,” his brother lifted two fingers into the air. “No. No. Three games. _Three_ games,” he amended. “With Lady Lyanna when she comes back.”

“I'm sure she would really like that. But you must win first.” He pressed his lips to Viserys’s bald head. “Things will be better around here, you’ll see.” He hugged him tightly to him before he sent him over to the septa once more. He stood, feeling more tired than he should.

“Be careful, Rhaegar. For my sake and your wife’s be careful around your father,” his mother said as she embraced him. “I could not bear it if something happened to you.”

“And you do the same, Mother. I will come and find you when this is done.”

She kissed him on the cheek and cradled his face between her hands. “I have always loved you so much, Rhaegar. From the moment I knew you existed. I have always been more than proud of you.” She let go of him reluctantly. “You will know this feeling someday. When you become a father.”

He wanted to tell her how he already knew that feeling. He wanted to tell her about Lyanna’s round belly and how he still felt his child move against his hand if he so much as closed his eyes. He didn’t, though. He wanted to tell her and delight in the look on her face. The situation they were in right now did not lend itself to that.

“Myles, lead the way for Lord Stark and his men,” Rhaegar commanded. Myles nodded and went on his way, followed by the northmen.

“May the gods guard you and may the Crone light your way,” his mother said as she departed next with his brother and the septa through a different door.

It was only him, Arthur, Oswell and Brandon Stark that remained. “So,” Brandon said, “my sister has chosen a prancing southron jackanape in silk breeches to love.”

“It’s southron _prince_ and you’re the one wearing the silk breeches,” Rhaegar pointed out. “And the only jackanape I see here is you.”

The northman barked out a laugh. “So it would seem.”

Laughter was good, it helped alleviate some of the tension, even Oswell and Arthur smiled at that, but Rhaegar’s nerves were frayed by now and his heart was beating a lot faster than it ought to. “This is as ready as we’ll ever be,” he said. “Let’s get this over with.”

He suddenly decided that when all this was over, he would return to the sunken courtyard and watch the sun rise over Blackwater Bay. 

It seemed fitting somehow. It would be a new day and a new dawn for his family and Westeros.

Or so he hoped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The sunken courtyard is a book reference. Both Ned, in the first book, and Sansa, in the third book used it to leave the Red Keep. The armors are also book references. Ned makes note of them as does Sansa, and Fire and Blood actually gave those armors an origin story which I thought was super neat. The round chamber is also from the books, more specifically from a Tyrion chapter in the third book. He is there right before he kills his father.
> 
> I was going to leave a line from the next chapter, but it's been a headache and as it stands now that chapter is a real dumpster fire with no end in sight.
> 
> So here's a line from chapter 40 (which I'm thinking might become chapter 41) "Death in Four" instead. It was difficult to choose without giving up too much since the chapter has been written for a while.
> 
> “Aye. You’ve made yourself abundantly clear in that. Not everyone is as slow-witted as you are. I understood your meaning the first time you spoke it.”


	39. 36: World on Fire

She had been new to the Red Keep, Lyanna Stark. A girl of surpassing loveliness, with genuine smiles and an honest face. Still, though, Aerys had been surprised by his aloof son. Rhaegar had never shown interest in the women around the Red Keep. He looked, but whatever interest there was, if there ever was, he lost quickly. Aerys had been amazed to see his son’s eyes follow the lady around, had been amazed to see him leave his beloved library and books to spend time with her. And spend time with her he did. He had been amazed to see him ask her to dance.

But then, he had not been so sure it was all that surprising. The girl was quite different from the ones that milled about the castle. And like everyone else who lived a stone’s throw away from the stormlands, tales of the Warden of the North’s pretty little daughter who liked swords and horses better than she liked dresses had reached his ears.

Rhaella had summoned the girl to King’s Landing and his son could not get enough of her.

“The Lady Lyanna is the blood of the First Men,” Rhaegar had said to him one afternoon. “House Stark is one of the most ancient houses in the realm. They built the Wall and Winterfell and Storm’s End. They have ruled the north for eight thousand years. No other house can boast of this, Sire. Even the unconquered Neck was conquered by them. It is my wish to make Lyanna Stark my wife. I believe it is past time we brought our two great lines together.”

Rhaegar had never been one for sentiment. His feelings, he had always kept to himself, yet Aerys had seen it, that look in his son’s eye. “You love her now,” he had said to him. “Will you still love her on the morrow?”

“My lord, my feelings for her are nothing new and I can assure you this is no passing fancy. I have known her longer than she has been living here. I traveled to the stormlands to her lady aunt’s keep to see her and Mother summoned her to King’s Landing because I asked her to.”

“Does she feel the same?”

“She does.”

Aerys had never spoken to the girl, though he knew she was well-liked in the Red Keep. The girl grew more beautiful every passing day, her blood was as old as Westeros itself. And sparsely populated it may have been, the north, from the Wall down to the Neck was as large as the other six kingdoms combined. He had liked Rhaegar's notion.

But the most important thing to him was that Lyanna Stark was not Cersei Lannister.

The lioness had come to King’s Landing when she had been summoned by her lord father. And Aerys had not been dupe. Tywin Lannister was banking on his daughter’s beauty, wealth, status to snare them a dragon.

It had not worked, though, much to Aerys’ glee. He laughed hysterically whenever he thought of the girl’s discomfited face. That little whore had tried and failed as Rhaegar rebuffed her at every turn. He could not believe he had thrown a feast in her honor when she had arrived in his city.

“Very well. I will communicate with Lord Stark upon my return from Duskendale. I would sooner not negotiate your marriage by raven, so we should have him for a visit and try and expedite this. The sooner this is handled, the better it will be. Your mother has failed in her duty. I hope the girl will prove better at producing healthy heirs than the ice queen ever was.” Stillbirths and miscarriages and three dead sons. Rhaella’s only duty was to provide heirs and she had failed miserably at it.  

Aerys doubted Lord Stark would turn down the opportunity to wed his daughter to the Crown Prince.

More than that what Aerys wanted was to see the _look_ on Tywin Lannister’s face when he announced his son’s betrothal.

Aerys and Tywin had been veterans of the War of the Ninepenny Kings. Aerys had been a squire and he had insisted that Tywin be the one to knight him on the battlefield.

He had done him an honor and Tywin had turned around and spat on him.

He wanted to steal Rhaegar from him and he wanted to steal the kingdom from him. He wanted to make his daughter a queen and his grandchildren kings.

As Hand, Tywin sat the Iron Throne and took petitions whenever Aerys could not. The wretch believed himself king. Those Lannisters were always overreaching themselves, always trying to take that which did not belong to them.

Never again would he trust his childhood friend. And never again would he trust Rhaegar.

Not after what had happened at Duskendale.

Never again would he look on him or Rhaegar the same after he had finally been rescued from the Dun Fort. "Tywin Lannister said they had a better a king here if you died," Qarlton Chelsted had been all too pleased to tell him. The memory still rankled after all these years.

He was a king and he had been treated like a common criminal. He would never be vulnerable again, he had sworn. He would never be weak again, he had promised himself.

His show of force had begun at Duskendale and Aerys decided that it should continue.

When Tywin Lannister objected to Rhaegar’s betrothal to the Stark girl, Aerys had seen it as his opportunity out of the deal he had made with his son.

Why should he give Rhaegar what he wanted? Why should he bow down to his son’s desires? _If you want to assert your power, then you have to begin with your own blood,_ a voice that sounded an awful a lot like his lord grandfather’s had said to him. He did not remember Aegon ever saying that, but perhaps he was speaking to him from beyond the veil.

“If you want to fuck the girl, fuck her,” Aerys had told his son. “You want to call her your mistress, give her rooms in the Red Keep. I don’t care. It’s past time you showed the realm that you are a virile man. Plant bastards in her belly if it pleases you. But you will not marry her.”

“Don’t speak of her like she’s one of the whores you have flaunted in Mother’s face,” Rhaegar had replied and Aerys had nearly struck him for it. But Rhaegar was taller than Aerys had ever been and broad of shoulders and sinewy of limb and like some of their forebears, he was freakishly strong when his hackles were raised.

Rhaegar had no longer been that boy of seven years he had once struck and nearly killed. He had not been that for a very long time.

He thought his son would hit him back if Aerys so much as tried to raise his hand to him. “To you she is nothing,” Rhaegar had tried to reason with him, “but to me she is everything. She makes my life _mean_ something. We had agreed upon this before you left King’s Landing. What is it that’s changed? _I want to know.”_

“It is as the Lord Hand said. The north has naught to offer House Targaryen or the realm. Even their gods are queer. The realm will not want a queen who worships false gods.”

“False gods? The old gods are no false gods. They are the gods of the First Men and have been worshiped in Westeros for as long as Westeros has existed,” the reply had come. “Need I remind you that your lady grandmother, the Queen Betha, was a Blackwood who worshiped the old gods as well?” his son had said hotly, standing over the desk, towering over him. And Aerys could see his fury was nigh on him. “She is the daughter of the Warden of the North and that makes her more than worthy of this marriage. And I am not a _bloody child._ I _will_ marry her.”

“You go ahead and do that,” Aerys had replied furiously. “Marry her and I will make you a widower. Do you grasp my meaning or should I send someone to cut her throat for you to understand this will never happen so long as I stand? I am your _king_ and my word is law.” Aerys had yelled at him. “I will not be questioned by the likes of you. You will not marry the girl. _And that is final.”_

"You wouldn't dare."

"You go ahead and marry her and see what happens. She lives and you love her from a distance. Or you love her into an early grave."

He had done it, though. Rhaegar had been a married man when he stood there that day in his father’s solar demanding to know why he could not marry the girl and he had been a married man in the Great Hall that day when he pleaded with Aerys to leave Lyanna Stark alone and call his men off. He had even called him _‘Father’_ in a bid to soften his heart.

Aerys would have none of it, though. Rhaegar had climbed the steps as Aerys sat the Iron Throne. He had slammed his hands on the arms of the throne. He had threatened him. For some girl who came from a savage family and a savage kingdom.

“Your Grace,” Varys had said after Rhaegar had departed the Throne Room to find the Stark girl. “Lady Lyanna has no harm in her.”

“No harm in her?” Aerys had screamed at him before uncontrollable laughter had burst from his lips. Did he not see? “You brought me this information on her. You said she dressed in man’s armor and entered the lists under the guise of that mystery knight. Did you not?”

“I did, Sire.”

It was that shield Aerys kept seeing everywhere. Laughing at him, mocking him, taunting him. He was king and he had been ridiculed by a girl of six-and-ten and his son had helped her hide her deception.

 _His wife,_ the voice in his head reminded him. _The woman he married without your leave. The woman he chose over you and House Targaryen. You are king, the gods chosen one here on earth and both of them ridiculed you._  

“I also said she did so in defense of the son of one of her lord father’s bannermen. I wanted to set your mind at ease, my king. The girl has wildness in her to be sure. She is spirited. But it was not done for malice,” the Lord of Whisperers had said to him.

“And how would you know that it was not done for malice? Did she tell you?”

“No. I seldom spoke to the girl. She took a great risk, Your Grace. She could have been unhorsed and everyone would have known her identity. She could have been severely injured or even killed and everyone would still have found out her identity then. The Freys have never been known for their fair play. Her heart was in the right place, my lord. She entered the lists only to chastise the knights whose squires had behaved so badly.”

“Your Grace,” Ser Gerold had spoken up, “the Lady Lyanna is no knight, but what she did was a chivalrous thing. Perhaps she did not want to reveal her identity so that she would not shame the boy further. It is not too late to call this off. Prince Rhaegar . . .”

“Married her without my leave,” Aerys had replied. _“He married her without my leave.”_ That last part, he had shouted so loudly at the men still present, the mirrors on the walls had shaken. Rhaegar had disobeyed his command. He had spat on his father and disrespected his king. Aerys would not have it. “I commanded him to marry the Martell girl. He put his desires ahead of the good of the realm and that cannot stand.”

 _You are the KING of these Seven Kingdoms. You have power of life and death over that ingrate. You could have chosen to betroth him to some pox-ridden bitch, but you didn’t. Will you let him treat you this way,_ one of the voices asked him scornfully. _Will you let him tread on you? Will you let him speak to you with disrespect? Look at these men. LOOK AT THEM! They would sooner see you dead and Rhaegar the Perfect sitting_ your _throne. After everything you have given the realm. After all that you have suffered. Is this all the thanks you get for your troubles? Look at these faces. They take you for a fool. They scorn you for still being alive._

“Your Grace, the marriage did not happen without your leave,” Ser Gerold had spoken to him as though he had been standing before a child and not his king. “He only took that step _after_ it was understood between you and he that the lady would be his wife. By the time he was commanded to take Princess Elia to bride, he already had a wife. It is a marriage in all the ways that matter in the eyes of men and gods.”

Aerys had looked at him. He dared speak to him as though he was some half-wit and he always spoke up against his ideas on the small council. And he loved Rhaella in a way he had never loved him.

It would have been so easy to order that the old knight be arrested for treason, taken to the black cells and executed. But he was a dutiful man, Ser Gerold was, but he kept talking and talking and talking. “Lyanna Stark is of high birth, Your Grace. There is no shame in having a change of heart,” the lord commander had continued on and Aerys had begun wondering what the knight would sound like deprived of his tongue. “She is Prince Rhaegar’s wife. She will be mother to his children someday.”

“You have grown too old,” Aerys had said to him, “and your mind is addled. You have become slow of wit as well it seems. Get out of my sight before I have a change of heart and have you arrested and charged with treason.”

He had begun to weep after that. They hated him. They all did. Rhaegar. Tywin. Ser Gerold whom he had known all his life. The people he had once loved now hated him. They could not get away from him fast enough.

He would repay them all for their slights.

Let Rhaegar see his beloved wife’s blood on his hands when he finally found her if he did at all. Let him suffer and let him live in a prison of his own making.

Aerys had once been kind and trusting and they had broken him for it. They had broken his spirit and they had broken his heart and they had broken his mind. The Darklyns, Tywin Lannister. _His own blood._ Every last one of them. He saw their faces whenever he blinked his eyes closed. They looked on him with contempt and scorn.

He had gone to Duskendale in good faith. He had wanted to be the one to solve the problem with the town charter.

 _Him._ Not Tywin Lannister who had already taken too much from him and then tried to take more still.  

They said he was the one who ruled the Seven Kingdoms. They pretended Aerys didn’t sit the small council. They pretended he didn’t sit the Iron Throne near every day to listen to petitions.

They pretended he, the dragon, did not exist.

He wanted to be the one who negotiated with Lord Darlyn. He wanted to be loved by the people of Duskendale and acclaimed by the smallfolk when he made his triumphant return to King's Landing.

But they had not given him so much as a chance to show what he could do. They had killed Ser Gwayne Gaunt, his Kingsguard and the only protection he had brought with him before his very own eyes. He had been taken prisoner. He had been assaulted. He had been thrown in the dungeons. He had been starved.

And they had taken their sweet time to rescue him. His valiant son had sat behind the walls of Duskendale with Tywin Lannister. They had dined on venison and pies and drunk Arbor gold while the clothes he wore rotted to near nothing on his back.

He was their king. And they had abandoned him to his torture and to his misery with only the rats in his cell and the voices in his head for company.

And he recognized every one of those unkind voices. They had been Rhaella’s and Tywin’s and his son’s.

That last one had been like a knife twisted in his heart.

Aerys Targaryen had never been one for children. His duty as prince and then as king had been to plant his seed. Once the Grand Maester came to him with news that his wife was with child, Aerys considered his duty fulfilled until she birthed the babe. Then that cycle would begin once more. It was all inevitable, in the way night followed day.

But Aerys had loved his son. Truly. He had loved him from the moment he had laid eyes on him.

He felt one of the blades of the Iron Throne prick at his back and shifted. But as he did so, he felt a barb under his thigh. He sighed with exasperation and looked at the empty Great Hall. He realized that Jaime Lannister had not yet come to replace Jonothor Darry who had spent most of the night standing sentinel below the Iron Throne.

Ser Jaime did not seem to understand the concept of time and punctuality. The black cells would be more fitting for the Young Lion than a white cloak. And he could do it too. Who was here within the walls of this keep who would try to protect that golden fool? Even Rhaegar had been dragged to the cells once for being too dim to grasp the power structures of the kingdom. Aerys was the king, which meant he could do as he pleased and Rhaegar was not the king, which meant he was not allowed to stop his king from taking his pleasure however he saw fit.

He should be in his bed right now, warm and cozy. He was tired and his eyes felt heavy with sleep. But Rhaegar had used his galleys to put a stranglehold on the Gullet, barring any ships from entering Blackwater Bay which hindered the trade in king’s Landing.

With a large host of northmen, valemen and rivermen somewhere north of near Hayford putting them half a day’s ride from King’s Landing, there was not much Aerys could do. The useless lords of the crownlands had barricaded themselves inside their castles at their approach.

None of them had so much as answered his summons. He had received no replies from Doran Martell and Mace Tyrell either. He did not expect they would arrive in time anyway.  

A king had to take his precautions. Aerys had resolved that he would wait here in the Great Hall, sitting upon _his_ throne. He would make his last stand here, against his son.

There was wildfire here. The ceiling was rigged with it. Aerys did not intend that anyone who set foot here with Rhaegar would live to see another day. And any army that tried to breach his gates would go up in flame.

“There is no information coming from inside the walls of the castle,” Lord Varys had said to him one morning after Rhaegar had departed for Dragonstone. “Prince Rhaegar was seen on Driftmark, at the Spicetown fair where he purchased silks and Valyrian steel daggers, and he was seen visiting the shipyards of Hull where he commissioned a couple more galleys for his fleet. His trade has grown and the shipwright said he needed galleys to escort the cogs near the Stepstones. He has spent time in the fishing village of his island and with the smallfolk and has taken petitions directly from them in the square.”

When Aerys had summoned him back to King’s Landing, Rhaegar had replied that he was seeing to the construction of the long overdue new docks off the fishing village, after that he had ignored him altogether, returning only in time to leave for the tourney at Harrenhal.

Now he knew why Rhaegar would not return. He had been with his wife on Dragonstone and had found the freedom he did not have in the Red Keep where tongues wagged incessantly.

Aerys’ first instinct had been to walk back his orders, bid his sellswords stand down. But it was not so simple. Not after the way Rhaegar had behaved. Giving into his demands, displaying any sign of weakness would undo him. He had learned that terrible lesson at Duskendale.

Rhaegar had kept defying him at every turn. He had done so in this very room before members of the small council and Kingsguard. Gerold Hightower and Lewyn Martell and Barristan Selmy had not so much as moved a muscle to pull him back.

Calling off the sellswords after all that had transpired between he and Rhaegar would have been the ultimate show of weakness and Aerys Targaryen would never compromise again. On anything.

 _“You!”_ Rhaella had stormed his meeting one day. “Has there ever been anyone more awful or cruel than you in this keep?”

She had called him a kinslayer. He knew all along it was a matter of time before she found out about the miscarriage. In the castle, it seemed Rhaegar was the only one who had managed to keep his secrets hidden.

He had not wanted that. Never. He had not known the girl had been Rhaegar’s wife, let alone that she had been with child. He never meant for it to happen.

 _Then what did you mean? You were going to have her killed,_ one of the voices asked him. _The babe was going to die anyway._ _You were never the clever sort._

He had written a hundred letters to Rhaegar. All of them extending his condolences for the child’s loss. In half his letters, he offered him safe passage. He told him he would accept his marriage. He told him he would pray to the Mother that his lady may have other babes. He named him his Hand.

It was something he should have done long ago. He should have given Rhaegar the position of Hand after his seventeenth name day. He would have made an able Hand. But Pycelle had objected to the notion, saying that he was still half a boy and should concern himself with the training yard for now.

In his other letters, Aerys had cursed his son and blamed him for what happened. If he had told him he had married the girl already, then none of this would have happened. He commanded him to return home at once. He said he would offer him the position of Master of Coin. Rhaegar had always been good with coin. He knew how to make it and he knew how to find it. His son wanted to rebuild roads and he’d wanted to bring maesters to tend to the smallfolk in Flea Bottom and Aerys decided he was willing to meet him halfway, so long as he returned home. He would pardon Ser Arthur and Ser Oswell for being misguided so long as Rhaegar forgave him for the loss of the babe.

Rumors were that it had been a girl. Had she lived, she might have married Viserys when she came of age.

He never sent those letters, though. In his mind he heard the voices of Staunton and Velaryon and Chelsted, asking him who was the true king of the Seven Kingdoms, Aerys Targaryen or Rhaegar Targaryen.

 _The realm knows what’s happened. The lords have heard rumors of the confrontation. They’ve heard of the miscarriage, kinslayer,_ one of the voices whispered in his ear. _How long do you think it will take before they want their prince to become their king. Rhaegar is everything and you are nothing. He is strong and you are weak._

 _“I am not WEAK,”_ he shouted and his voice reverberated and bounced off the walls of the empty hall.

 _“Weak, weak, weak, weak,”_ the echo replied mockingly. It seemed to take forever before it finally stopped. Aerys looked up to the ceiling where jars of wildfire had been secured. He was safer here than he was anywhere else in the Red Keep.

He shut his eyes for a fraction of an instant and when he opened them, he saw her, the Mother. He had been dreaming of her. The Mother came to him, spoke to him, told him he was her son and that she loved him.

She was dressed in the white robes and the veil of a septa. And she was oh so beautiful with soft and benevolent eyes. But in the glow of the torches that burned with green flame, she looked frightening. Her normally blue eyes looked as black as a moonless, starless night and they held none of the understanding he had seen in them before. He had never seen her in this light and he recoiled away from her in his throne feeling a blade cut through his robes.

Slowly, she climbed the steps to the Iron Throne. But she looked as though she was floating.

Aerys squinted his eyes at her, then tried to rub the sleep from them. “Mother?” he asked her. “Is that you?”

The Mother stopped and looked down at him. Light caught the crystal she wore about her neck, making a rainbow of colors dance upon the walls. “Mother,” he said again.

“You have hurt the Mother’s children,” she said with a disembodied voice. “My children are precious to me and I love them, yet you have done everything that you can to harm them. What wrong has your son ever done you?”

“My son is disobedient and disrespectful. I was his father and he never had room in his life for me. I was his king and he shunned me.”

Rhaegar always fussed whenever Aerys picked him up from his crib. He did not know how to hold him properly and was always afraid he might drop him. He was uneasy around him. The babe always turned his head, his indigo eyes always searching for his mother or his wet nurse.

And always there was that twinge of jealousy that burned deep inside Aerys, but he tried to be understanding. Rhaella had carried Rhaegar around in her belly for nigh on nine months. The boy knew her voice and looked for her whenever she opened her mouth. And the wet nurse gave him suck from her breast. His young, meaningless life revolved around those two women.

But even so, Rhaegar had always been closer to Rhaella. Rhaegar had always loved Rhaella best. Rhaegar had always turned to Rhaella. The space that Aerys should have occupied in Rhaegar’s life had been wholly taken up by Rhaella.

Even when Rhaegar came to him for stories and Aerys took him by the hand and walked him through the halls of the Red Keep or Dragonstone, pointing at dragon skulls or portraits and told him of the glory of their forebears and of the dragons they flew and of the wars they fought, the boy always wanted his mother after.

She had been like a wall between them. It had been her first. She had been the first one before Lyanna Stark came along. _What does it feel like to see your precious perfect boy be stolen from you, Rhaella?_

He began to weep. “What about _me?_ He hurt me first,” he said.

“Hurt you? He loved you. His heart hardened after you threatened to murder the woman he loved, when you sent men to kill her, when he watched her bleed out the child he had made with her. There was a time when he wanted your love and your approval. There was a time he wanted to make you proud.”

“I was proud. I was proud because he was clever and I was proud the day he decided to learn to fight and when he entered his first tourney and when he unhorsed those Lannisters at Lannisport. I was always proud. I loved my son, but he wanted me to die at Duskendale so that he could steal my throne and my kingdom. He is coming to kill me now.” He tried to seize her wrist, but she moved quickly out of his way and he frowned at that.

“You would kill your child? Your own flesh and blood?” she asked him. For a moment, he thought the Mother resembled his own mother and he felt ashamed by his words, ashamed of his thoughts.

“He is no son of mine,” he replied angry. “I will never be weak again and once I am done with Rhaegar, no one will ever dare try.”

She leaned forward in the same way Rhaegar had the day he had climbed those steps and she put her hands on the armrests in the same way he had. “Rhaegar?” Aerys asked. The Mother and his son looked so alike. He had never noticed that before.

“Rhaegar has more mercy in him than I do.”

“You are the Mother. The Mother is merciful.”

“Not to the likes of you,” the Mother replied. “May you die painfully and may you rest in eternal torment, kinslayer.” He moved further back into his seat, looking at her horrified for the words she had spoken to him. Quick as snake, she struck at his face and he felt something pinch his side and then she was gone, vanished so fast, he was convinced it had all been a terrible dream he was waking from.

It was all the wine he had drunk, he told himself. Wine to calm his nerves. It made him sluggish and it made him see things that were not there. But when he touched to his cheek, his fingers came up bloody and he shrieked to see the red there.

He must have cut himself on one of the blades. Why would the Mother ever want to harm him? He was the king, a Targaryen and her first son.  

He looked out of one of the windows. It was near dawn, he saw. A new day was beginning and soon Lord Stark and his son and the northmen would be brought before him.

He wondered if the Starks would melt like ice. It made him chuckle to imagine them strapped and burning. He felt himself flush with heat. Once this was done and over with, he would find his wife. He wondered if she knew where Rhaegar was. If she did, she would never give him up.

And after he was through with her, he would go to his bed and sleep his exhaustion and excitement and anxieties away.

He would sit here every night if he must, he told himself. Rhaegar would not come in the day of light. He would come in the dark of night like the craven he was.

And when he finally showed, it would be his funeral.

The ground shook beneath him and the king’s door opened with a loud bang and Lord Rossart, dressed as a man-at-arms ran inside, followed by a man in Kingsguard garb. Aerys would recognized Jaime Lannister anywhere with his golden sword and his golden armor and his golden hair. He was much quicker than Rossart and when he caught him, he took his golden sword to the man’s throat and slit it. Blood spilled and Lannister shoved the body unceremoniously to the ground.

Aerys stood and looked at him with wide round eyes. The side where he had felt a pinch earlier was drenched with blood, he noticed. He felt confused. He had not realized he had cut himself so badly.

 _“Traitor,”_ he yelled out. _“Men,”_ he screamed. _“To me! To me! Murder! Murder! Murder!”_

But no one was coming to his aid. _They are going to let me die,_ he realized. Him. The king. The most important man in all of the realm. What will the Seven Kingdoms do without him?

“They are not coming. The men inside the Red Keep and the ones walking the streets are my men, not yours,” said a voice Aerys had known all too well and had not heard for months now. He stared at his son who seemed to have appeared out of thin air with three other men. Two he recognized as the oath breakers Arthur Dayne and Oswell Whent. The other one, he did not know, but his beard was a grisly thing, bushy and wild and he gazed on him with nothing but disdain. He looked like the wildlings from the stories he used to hear when he had been a boy no older than Viserys.

“Go, Ser Jaime,” Rhaegar told the Kingsguard. “Find your brothers. If the ground is shaking, then something must have gone awry with the wildfire somewhere.”

“He is my Kingsguard. Not yours.”

“I am his Kingsguard,” Ser Jaime replied, “not yours.” He left the same way he had come, but not without giving Aerys an insolent smile and a lingering look that chilled him to the bone and he thought he felt that cold golden sword go through his back and come out the other side.

Aerys looked down at his son. His hair was much shorter than the last time he had seen him and his shoulders seemed much broader. And there was no love for him in his eyes.  

Rhaegar was looking back at him silently and took a step forward toward him. “Come no closer or I will bathe you in flame,” Aerys said, “I am the dragon. Don’t you know that by now, foolish boy?”

But he wasn’t listening. “Rhaegar be careful,” Arthur Dayne said. “He has something in his hand.”

_Aye, the rope to topple down the jars and the flint to set you on fire is what I have in my hand._

“I mean you no harm,” Rhaegar said, taking another step.

“You stole my castle and my city and you are here armed but you mean me no harm,” Aerys sneered at him. “Do you take me for a fool?”

“No. I take you for a madman and a kinslayer and a king who surrounds himself with men as unfit to rule as he is,” Rhaegar replied.

Rhaegar had never spoken to him like this before. It was the woman’s doing. That Stark bitch. She had turned his son against him. He saw it now. All along, he had feared Tywin Lannister, but it was that woman. “I never thought a cunt and a pair of teats would turn you traitor,” he said.

The ground shook violently and he felt himself stumble forward before he caught himself on one of the barbs, feeling it slice his hand. Below, Rhaegar and his men were not faring any better as they seemed to lose their balance. Some of the torches fell to the ground and a curtain of wildfire went up between the steps that led up to the Iron Throne and Rhaegar.

He saw him take a step back, but the heat from the flames must have done something to the contraption on the ceiling and the jars came tumbling down, upending mid-air, making the flames leap higher and higher and smoke became thick. The other jars fell to the ground and exploded. The force of the impact sent him hurtling back against the Iron Throne and he found himself seated.

He felt dizzy from the blow to his head and when he opened his eyes, he saw marble and rock and shards and splinters rain down from the vaulted ceiling. Rhaegar was sprawled on the ground surrounded with debris, unconscious and bleeding as wildfire surged and burned hot all around him. The other men, he did not see.

It reminded him of the day he was born. He had been so small and had looked so frail and had breathed enough smoke to char a grown man’s lungs. He had lived, though, had grown into manhood and turned into . . . into this faithless _creature._

Born in wildfire only to die in wildfire. Aerys supposed there was irony in that. His laugh became lost in the sound of roaring fire and crumbling melting walls. The hissing sound was unbearable. The world below was green and everything was burning like it did that day at Summerhall.

He had to get out of here before he died too. Pain gripped his belly when he made to stand and he saw one of the blades of the Iron Throne protruded from him. He did not understand how it had happened or why he should be surprised by it. But oddly, it was not the thing that hurt the most.

No. What hurt the most were the last words Rhaegar had spoken to him on the last day he had seen him in this hall. He could see it so clearly still and hear him so clearly still, so haunted he had been afterward by the words he had said and the way he had turned his back on him and walked away, making it plain it was Lyanna Stark he had chosen.

_“Have a care they don’t find you impaled upon the chair like they did Maegor the Cruel.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So a couple of things; 
> 
> I feel I should explain my approach to this chapter. First, it has been fucking difficult to write. 
> 
> I had started approaching the chapter from a madness perspective. Aerys was mad, so he was driven by that. But it wasn't working, because I don't have a good grasp on mental illness and the last thing I wanted was to offend anyone. It's a story with fictional characters, but I'm not interesting in writing something that doesn't make sense to me. I also did not want to be insensitive delving into a subject matter I am not well-versed in because I believe there's a delicate balance here and I did not think I could strike it. And you know, when in doubt, choose a different direction. 
> 
> The boarder ideas I kept in the chapter. But I decided to approach the writing from the perspective of a man who  
> is a megalomaniac and who felt weakened by everything that had happened (Duskendale) and that was happening around him and who had grown insecure in his power rather than the madness that characterized him. 
> 
> Now, about the story in general. Chapter 35, 36 and 37 are meant to overlap. I am sort of going back and forth on whether or not I should be adding an extra chapter between 38 and 40 and the story will be going into hiatus after I post the last chapter that's written. I know I will be hated for it because 39 and 40 (as the chapter numbers stand right now if I don't add another chapter) both end on cliffhangers. But I am reaching that time when I will be needing a break, figuring out my chapters for the final stretch of the story. This is coming to a conclusion very soon. 
> 
> Next chapter is titled "The Promise" and is written. It needs some tweaks here and there, but nothing more than that. If you want the chapter, you pay upfront, but I am a generous and kind soul, so here's a small sneak peek. 
> 
> _“There is no godswood here,” she whispered. “There is no weirwood. They were all cut down so long ago and no one thought to plant more. It has been so long since I knelt before a weirwood and prayed to my gods.” She drew her dagger from her boot and went to the nearest tree there was, a weeping willow, and started hacking savagely at it. It was as though a madness had seized her._


	40. 37: The Promise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> News of King's Landing reach Lyanna's ears.

It was the scraping at the door that had woken her. Rhaegar pushed his way in, holding a basket in his arms and kicked the door closed with the heel of his boot. He wore his court clothes, a plum-colored doublet that made his eyes look a beautiful shade of violet and a crown she did not recognize was nestled in his hair that had been shorn very short. He sat beside her and smiled as he pulled the soft silky fabric from the top of the basket and uncovered the dragon eggs he had left behind on Dragonstone.

He toed off his black boots, removed the crown he wore and his doublet before he sat on the bed with his basket. He took the eggs out one by one, laying them there between them. When he was done, he put the basket down on the ground and laid down on his side facing her. He propped his head on his hand and gazed at her lovingly.  

Lyanna ran a gentle hand on two of the eggs. “Do you feel how warm they are?” he asked her.

She nodded her head slowly at that. It was as though flame licked at her hand. It was that same gentle warmth she felt in her womb, as though a small fire had been lit there, inside her.

She looked at the eggs and then looked back at him before she moved closer to close some of the gap between them. “I think I can feel them moving too.”

Rhaegar smiled widely. It was that unburdened smile that Lyanna loved so much and that had become so rare the closer he had come to leaving for King’s Landing.

She had missed this smile and this face and the ease of his demeanor. She missed this way he had of looking at her.

“So they are,” he whispered touching the tip of his fingers to the nearest egg to him before pulling them back quickly when they heard a loud crack. It was followed by another one even louder than the first and when her gaze shifted back to the the eggs, she saw the two that had been warmest had begun to hatch. Her heart seized with anticipation and excitement and both she and Rhaegar sat up and watched.  

It was a foot then a hand out of both eggs before two bald heads finally emerged from the shells. The babes stretched their limbs and opened their eyes. A variance of purple, Lyanna saw as twin pairs of eyes found her face and remained locked there. It was as though they knew who she was.

She stroked the little ones’ heads gently with a finger before she took one of them in her arms. “This suits you,” Rhaegar said as he watched her kiss the babe’s head. It made her smile to hear him say that and her smile widened when she saw him put gentle hands under the other babe and lifting it into his arms.

She counted toes and fingers, rested her cheek on the babe's head as she watched her husband's interaction with the other one. Their babes were beautiful and so perfect. She could scarce believe they had come from them.

“You did well,” Rhaegar spoke with a tone charged with emotion as the babe he held against his chest took hold of his thumb and refused to let go. There was pride there, in his voice, she discerned. And love. And joy. “You did so well, my darling.”

“What of the third?” she asked him as her heart skipped beat after beat after beat after beat before it began to thunder, so full with love it was. It was an all encompassing feeling that she could not get enough of.

The third egg was only lukewarm to the touch and unlike the other two, she felt no movement inside it.

“It will hatch when the time comes,” Rhaegar said pressing a kiss to her forehead. And when he kissed her lips, she felt the world shake beneath her.

And heat.

She felt burning heat upon her skin and it began to blister. "Do you feel all this heat?" she asked him. 

But Rhaegar was gone, she realized, along with their children and the egg that had yet to hatch and her perfect world that she did not want to leave dissolved all around her into one of horror.

She found herself in the Great Hall of the Red Keep, with Aerys towering above her like the dark and grim shadow that he was, looking down at her from the Iron Throne.

The way he stared at her made her skin crawl. She felt small and vulnerable and frightened under his unflinching gaze. It was them alone and she felt waves of anger coming off him as he slowly climbed the steps down. Green flames followed him and the heat became unbearable the closer he came to her.

Around them stone and steel and wood caught fire. The walls exploded and crumbled. She felt shards and splinters hit and pierce her flesh and felt blood trickle from her wounds. _“You killed him!”_  Aerys screamed at her making her jump, his face an inch away from hers, showering her with spittle. _“You killed my son!”_

Lyanna stared at him shocked and confused. “Killed him? No. Where is he? Rhaegar is not dead. If he were, I would know.”

 _I would know,_ she told herself. _Wouldn’t I?_

She felt tears well in her eyes and fall down her cheeks. She tasted salt on her lips. “Where is he? Where is Rhaegar?”

“Your beloved is naught but ashes and cinders now,” Aerys said before he grabbed her arm with brutal force and shoved her hard into the curtain of leaping wildfire and its heat. She felt her flesh burn and she screamed and screamed as the ground beneath her feet shook violently.

Lyanna startled awake. She was drenched with sweat and terrified. Above her stood her brother, the maester and Jonelle Cerwyn who had taken on the role of handmaid and shared her bed at night. “The gods are good. You had us all worried,” Ned said, “we have been trying to rouse you for the past several minutes. You have been screaming and crying in your sleep. I thought you were being attacked.”

“It was a nightmare,” Lyanna said with an uncertain voice. How could such a sweet dream turn into something so horrible?

“I can give you something to help calm your nerves, my lady,” the maester offered, but Lyanna declined with a head shake.

She put her hand to her belly where she felt her babe move and drew a long breath before releasing it to try and steady her heartbeat. “What time is this?”

“Just past dawn. The sun will be rising soon, my lady,” Jonelle Cerwyn said as the ground shook and Lyanna wondered if she had woken at all. She heard the commotion outside and men shouting as the ground shook once more. Beside her Jonelle squeezed her hand in hers harder and Lyanna saw the girl was frightened.

“The ground has been shaking on and off for the past fifteen minutes,” her brother said. “The maesters assembled here think it’s a quake. Howland Reed who is used to them in the Neck doesn’t believe it is.”

Lyanna swung her legs over the side of her bunk and slipped on her riding boots. She picked up the first cloak within her reach and threw it over her shoulders. Beneath was the white tunic she slept in, far too wide for her, falling midway to her bare thighs. It belonged to Rhaegar and brought her what comfort it could. But the scent of him was fading away slowly.   

Chaos greeted her outside her pavilion and when she looked to the sky, she saw the large bloody moon was still more than visible in the sky. It had felt like a bad omen the previous night and it made her feel unsettled and off kilter to see it there still.

And the way her heart squeezed in her chest with every beat made her nervous and the way the babe kept kicking inside her womb as though it had no room to move any longer stole her breath away and knotted her stomach with anxiety.

They were below Brindlewood now, some two leagues north of Stokeworth. They were so close to King’s Landing, she imagined she could smell its stench at times. This was as far as the host would go for the time being.

Lyanna found every day that passed more difficult than the last. She felt somewhat isolated even though she was with kin and friends. This was as close as she had been to her husband since he had left Dragonstone, but she could not go to him. Often, she rode down on the kingsroad stopping short of the Stokeworth lands and gazed further south to where she knew Rhaegar was.

Ned stood beside her. “What was your nightmare about?”

“Nothing I care to recall.” She wanted to remember how happy she had been with Rhaegar beside her and those two beautiful babes she had laid eyes on. Everything that had come after, she wanted to scrape from her memory and forget so disturbing it had been. She shivered and pulled her cloak tightly around her small frame. “I’m going to wash and dress.” When she stepped back into her pavilion, Jonelle was dressed and waiting for her.

“Do they know why the ground is shaking?”

“No.”

“I’ll help you dress, then I will fetch us something to break our fast.” She went and rummaged inside the trunk and came out with a cotton dress.

“I’ll wear breeches, a tunic and my black short coat.”

“People might see your belly.”

“People have already seen my belly and those who have not are sure to have heard about it. Layers of clothes don’t hide much any longer and the women in camp know what they are looking at. Besides, the dresses are growing uncomfortably tight over my chest.”

“With any luck, this thing will be over soon and you’ll no longer need to remain in an uncomfortable camp, on an uncomfortable bed. I’m sure Prince Rhaegar will put the seamstresses to work as soon as he has you back.” Lyanna and Jonelle were a few months apart in age and had been friends for as long as she could remember. Castle Cerwyn lay half a day’s ride from Winterfell making the Cerwyns the nearest friends Stark children made.

“Gods be good,” Jonelle had said to her some days past. _“When I’m lonely, I know I’m going to be the man who is lonely without you. And if I grow up, I know I’m going to be the man who is growing old with you.”_ She paused. “I can’t believe he wrote this for you.”

Lyanna remembered that evening in Pentos when they had been pulling at the strings of Rhaegar’s harp. “Are you making a new song?” she’d asked him as they both sprawled on the long chair in the warm night with not a care in the world. “Just enjoying the sounds,” he had replied as he showed her which string to pull and where.

She had believed him, but she also knew him. And when she heard him humming the melody from the few notes they had played together, it had made her smile and she looked forward to hearing what it was he came up with.

When she had found the parchment with those and many more words written upon it slipped inside her sketchbook, she knew exactly what it was.

Lyanna had looked up from the page in the book she had been reading before extending her hand out. “Rhaegar has an unmatched eloquence with words. And you have not changed. You still go through my things without my leave. What you're holding in your hand is personal. Give it here.” Jonelle handed the parchment over and sat beside her.

“Is it the song you have been humming?”

Lyanna had nodded at that. “It is.”

“What is he like, Prince Rhaegar,” she had asked her with a look that Lyanna knew all too well. Dreamy, distant, wistful.

_Rhaegar is caring and kind. He is sweet and passionate and competitive. He wants to be the best at what he does all of the time even when he knows he will not be. But he tries anyway._

_He enjoys silly japes and he has a smile that can light up a room. Sometimes, he laughs to the point of tears and when he looks at me, all I see is how much he loves me. And I more than love him,_ she had almost said.  

 _He whispers my name to wake me in the morning._ He always brushed strands of her hair away from her face and tucked them behind her ear, his finger always running down her jaw line before his warm lips pressed softly against the side of her head. This was how he always woke her. With a whisper, a touch and a kiss. There were days she buried her face in his chest and mumbled it was too early and refused to rise. “The world doesn’t have to wake because you are,” she always said to him.

Those were always the best mornings when they had been in Pentos.

They were the mornings when he kissed her languorously. They were the mornings he slipped a hand between her legs before he nestled himself there or rolled her on top of him and made her mind go blank. They were the mornings he left her boneless and breathless with that sweet ache between her thighs.

Those were the mornings they sat in a hot bath together and chatted and laughed and let the world fall away.

And that had been the difference between Pentos and Dragonstone. On Dragonstone, Lyanna and Rhaegar shared every meal. They went riding and they hawked together and they mingled with the smallfolk in dockside inns. Sometimes, Rhaegar brought his harp down with him and sang in the small cobbled square in the fishing village. And women wept at the words and men swayed on their feet as they listened and Lyanna’s heart swelled with love and pride as she watched her husband do something he loved so much and excelled at.

Dragonstone had become home to Lyanna during her first stay there. But on Dragonstone, she could not wrap her arms about her husband’s neck or rest her head upon his shoulder. She could not kiss him or hold his hand in hers. Instead, she had to wake before the household did and leave the warmth of Rhaegar’s embrace to return to her bedchamber before the handmaid knocked on her door.

“He snores,” Lyanna had said looking at her old friend. “And very loudly, might I add.”

“No, he _does not,”_ Jonelle had said wide-eyed. It had almost made Lyanna laugh, that disbelieving tone she used.

“I had no idea you were the one who slept beside him,” Lyanna replied with an eye roll. “Aye. He snores.” Rhaegar snored only when he was exhausted, though. But Jonelle needn’t know that.

But there were also the nights when he did it deliberately, when she was deep in sleep, to aggravate her. He did it whenever she took his things and hid them from him. Books and scrolls that he left lying wherever he had been reading them last. Smaller things that she hid on her person.

“You’re doing it on purpose.”

“Yes, I am. And I will make sure to keep this going all night. All is fair in love and war after all.”

“This is war, then?”

“It would seem so,” he had replied with a loud snore and a cheeky smile.

“You and I both know you will be on the losing end of that.”

“Not if I keep you up all night.”

She had scoffed at that. “Don’t lie. You enjoyed putting your fingers between my breasts to retrieve your seal. A little longer and your face was going to join them there.”

“You flatter yourself.”

“And you are being dreadful. I saw the look in your eye. You wanted me to hike up my skirts and take you for a ride.”

“I do so love it when you speak like this,” he’d said dragging the tip of his tongue over his lips slowly.

“Don’t let that hair and those beautiful eyes fool you. Rhaegar is exceedingly normal,” Lyanna had told her. “Sometimes he walks into furniture and walls when he is too distracted by his thoughts to pay attention. His ears always become beet red whenever he is embarrassed and under the sun, he can turn as brown as a Dornishman. And he has a sweet tooth, so he pilfers tarts from the kitchens. He doesn’t care what kind it is so long as it has a crust and a sweet filling.” It had made her smile to think on those things.

“I remember a time when you did not want to marry, let alone have children,” she had said. “You wanted adventure as I recall.”

“What the girl of ten and the woman of five-and-ten want are very different and it turns out falling in love is its very own adventure,” Lyanna had replied. “I didn’t know who my father intended for me and I was worried I was trading one prison in for another. But there is none of that with Rhaegar. I think I have always loved him, deep, in this part of my heart that was just waiting to be woken.”

“You are a lucky woman, Lady Targaryen,” Jonelle had said.

It made Lyanna smile. No one had ever called her that. “The luckiest,” she had replied.

Jonelle Cerwyn had been betrothed to a Norrey but the boy had died from the pox some years past. And now Lyanna saw her eyes follow Elbert Arryn and saw the blush that rose in her cheeks whenever he came calling.

Elbert was a handsome man with his windswept blond hair and eyes as blue and clear as the summer sky. But his own eyes always found the more than pretty Erena Corbray who had just joined her father and brothers on her way down to Bronzegate to take up service with Lady Buckler.

Matters of the heart were a terribly complicated thing. Jon Arryn would sooner marry his nephew and heir to a lady of the Vale than a northern lady from some minor house.

“You miss him,” Jonelle had stated.

“I do. I miss his warmth and the sound of his voice. I can hear it in my head, but it’s not the same as having him here beside me. I miss the way he just takes my hand in his for no reason other than that he wants to hold it. This has all been incredibly difficult, not knowing,” she had replied.

Lyanna wiped the stray tear and sat on her bunk once she was done dressing. “I’ll fetch us something to eat,” Jonelle told her.

She was not hungry. What Lyanna wanted was news of her husband, not food. No sooner had she left than the maester arrived. “The crannogman would like word with you, but I bid him wait.”

“Thank you, maester.”

“How do you fare, my lady? You seem to have had a difficult night.”

 _I’m scared, maester. I am scared I will never see Rhaegar’s face again,_ she wanted to tell him. “All my nights since Rhaegar has been away have been difficult, maester,” she told him instead as the maester motioned her to lay down. Lyanna unbuttoned her coat and set it aside before she unlaced her breeches and laid down. She pulled up her tunic, exposing her rounded abdomen to the maester.

The grey man pulled a stool and sat by her side. He rubbed his hands together to warm them before he placed them on her bare skin. He touched her belly every which way, pressed lightly here and there and made notes before he took his yarn and measured the length and width of her stomach. “I have been working on a small device,” he spoke, “one that might allow me to listen to the little one’s heartbeat. Would you allow me to use it? See if it works?”

“Would I be able to hear it as well if it does?”

“I’m afraid not,” he said, pulling the small device from his sleeve giving it to her. It was a trumpet-shaped instrument made from weirwood with an opening drilled through the center. She handed it back to him and nodded. The maester placed the trumpet on her belly and put his ear to it and began to move it about, searching, then stopped and remained on the same spot several minutes before he lifted his head and looked at her with a wide smile. “It works,” he said excitedly. “A very strong and steady heartbeat, my lady. Truly. It’s quite beautiful to hear.” He sounded awed and Lyanna felt overwhelming emotions. She wished she could have had Rhaegar by her side for this. She stood and laced herself back up.

“It feels as though I am carrying a litter at times,” she told him.

“Prince Rhaegar was also an active babe in his mother’s womb. Especially when the sun set. A night owl, that one.”

“It has not truly changed,” Lynna said.

“No. It has not,” Maester Gyldayn chuckled. “You have gained two inches since last week.”

“Is that a lot?”

The maester shrugged. “It’s plenty. Targaryen babes are rarely so big and you have some way to go still. Prince Rhaegar was small when he was born.”

This was as good an opening as she would ever get. “Maester,” she said sitting back down, “I know it’s not something anyone who’s lived through it wants to speak on, but Summerhall, the wildfire . . . I saw what was left of the castle when I traveled there. I saw how the walls were scorched and how they seemed to have been eaten away by the substance.”

Maester Gyldayn played with his listening device between his fingers before he cleared his throat. “Summerhall is a terrible memory, child. Too many good people died that day for a dream King Aegon had and the words of a woods witch.”

“You blame him.”

“At first, I did. But time works wonders on a man’s mind and heart. Aegon was a good man and a good king and not so misguided as some may think. If the fire hadn’t gone out of control, Prince Rhaegar may well be a dragon rider.”

She looked at him wide-eyed. “Rhaegar never said . . .”

“Rhaegar never knew. I went back in the castle after the fire had finally guttered out and found the dead hatchlings. Their flesh had been burned away, but I knew what they were just the same. I buried them and never spoke of it. Some things are better left unsaid and I stand by my decision. It was the right thing to do especially knowing what I know now. King Aerys is a disturbed man. If he’d known, I believe he would have stopped at nothing to try and bring the dragons back.” He stopped and looked down at his hands. “Wildfire is highly unstable. It seeps through _everything._ Even water cannot quench it and it travels so quickly. The stone Summerhall had been built with, the marble, it exploded from the heat and melted and we became quickly surrounded while Princess Rhaella was birthing her son. It was like reading those stories about Harrenhal when Balerion the Black Dread descended upon the castle with fire. I thought we were going to die and we would have if not for Ser Duncan.”

Lyanna remembered her dream of Summerhall and the blistering heat she felt. Her flesh had burned and melted in the nightmare she had woken up from earlier. “I am worried, maester.”

“I know, my lady. I see that your nightmare has left you shaken up. I can hear it in your voice and I noticed the paleness of your skin. But whatever this was, take comfort in knowing it was only a nightmare. You must needs put it behind you. For your sake and the child’s. This is your prince’s heir and so much is riding on you delivering it healthy.”

 _My nightmares are never nightmares,_ she wanted to say, but she nodded her head instead. “I am doing the best that I can under the circumstances.”

“I know,” the maester replied standing and she stood as well. She felt as though she was suffocating in her tent. She needed air or she thought she might collapse. “I will be in my tent should you have need of me.” She put on her coat and buttoned it and threw her grey cloak over her shoulders. She fastened it with Rhaegar’s brooch and followed the maester out.

She saw riders had come into camp. They were scouts that had been sent out the previous night and her brother, Howland Reed, Elbert Arryn and Walter Whent stood with them, looking grim.

“What’s happened?” she asked when she stepped up to them.

Ned scratched at his forehead. “The scouts have reported hearing explosions out from King’s Landing right after  dawn began to break. There is smoke rising from the city.”

Lyanna felt dazed by the words. “Explosions?” she asked. “Is that why the ground was shaking?”

“You are asking questions I do not have answers to, Lya.”

But she already knew the answers, didn’t she? “Wildfire,” she breathed out. She felt her gut clench and in the back of her mind she heard Aerys scream at her that she had killed his son. “Wildfire.” She felt herself slowly crumble, as though the wall she had built around herself, that carefully crafted façade she had been hiding every single worry behind was no more. It all gave way to this scared girl she scarce recognized, who did not know which way to turn.

“You can’t know that,” Ned replied.

“Yes, I do. I know.”

“Lya,” he sighed.

“Don’t treat me like I’m a child who doesn’t know what she speaks of. I lived in close proximity to Aerys Targaryen. I know what that man is capable of.”

“I think you are jumping to conclusions.”

“Rhaegar is in trouble. I know this much,” she said. “Ser Elbert, find the men, we are riding out.” She turned away and walked toward the horse lines.

“Riding out to where?” Ned asked her when he caught up with her. “If Prince Rhaegar is in trouble, how will you help him? If Aerys gets his hands on you, he will use you against him.”

She never knew how Ned could remain so calm under any circumstance. Rhaegar was much like him in that. “Our father and brother are prisoners in the Red Keep. Don’t you want to know what’s happened to them?”

“Of course I want to know. But Prince Rhaegar said you are to stay with me and out of danger and that is what you will do. Whatever happened in King’s Landing --”

“You are mistaken if you think I will remain here,” she replied. “I have to find out, Ned. I will know no rest if I don’t.”

“What wrong have I done you that you must be so damnably stubborn when you are around me?” he asked with a hard voice. “You are with child.”

“I know I am with child. It’s my back that's sore and my feet that are swollen. And it’s my bladder it keeps kicking as though it’s a ball on a pitch,” she replied hotly. “Now, you either ride out with me or you stay out of my way. Choose now because I will be leaving as soon as the horses are saddled and my men are ready to go.”

“Where would your lord husband be?” Ned asked her.

A couple of days past, the news Lyanna had been waiting for had come down from Rook’s Rest. Rhaegar’s flagship the _Defiant_ along with his newest galley that he had named for her had been spotted. Prince Rhaegar had closed off the Gullet had been the news.

She did not know what day Rhaegar had chosen to take the Red Keep. He had not seemed sure himself when he had left. If the explosions in King’s Landing were anything to go by, then she was certain he had moved on the castle.  

She exhaled a long breath. “He would be in the Red Keep most like. The only person who would not be with him but may know of his whereabouts is Jon Connington.”

Her brother relented. “Very well. We’ll go to King’s Landing and I will ask to see Jon Connington.”

"Have you taken leave of your senses?" she asked him.

“Your Grace, my lord.” Lyanna looked over Ned’s shoulder at Walter Whent. “With your leave, my lady, I wish to ride to King’s Landing with you. I think it would be far easier if I were the one to go inside the city,” he said. “I have men there working with Prince Rhaegar and Lord Jon may feel freer to meet with me.”

Lord Whent had always been Rhaegar’s man. It was his septon who had performed their wedding rites on the Isle of Faces. He had lent Rhaegar his castle to hold the tourney even when he knew everything could go badly and he could stand to be accused of treason. He had taken them in with no questions asked after she had been badly hurt. And she could see the worry for his brother in his eyes, Ser Oswell, who had always been so patient and good to her. “Thank you, my lord.”

Lyanna was helped up onto her horse and they rode out from the camp. Ned rode silently beside her. The babe had stopped kicking as it always did whenever she took to the saddle. It was as though riding lulled it to sleep.

Miles down from Stokeworth and halfway to King’s Landing, black smoke became visible on the horizon. “You are stopping here with your men,” her brother told her in a tone that brooked no argument from her. “I will continue on with Lord Whent.” She wanted to go with him but she nodded her head instead.

Elbert Arryn helped her down from her horse while Ned, Walter Whent proceeded ahead with ten men-at-arms. She looked up at the sky. It was blue but for the black smoke and she felt her heart clench painfully in her chest.

“My lady, you ought to sit,” Howland Reed told her.

“I didn’t want to come back. Westeros is duty and obligations and I wanted to stay in Pentos and just live peacefully there. I had Rhaegar all to myself when we lived on Dragonstone and I had him all to myself when we were in Pentos. I just wanted more of that. But Rhaegar, no matter how badly he wants these same things that I want, there was always going to be that pull toward King’s Landing. He was born to become a king and to lead the realm. I knew we would have to return eventually. I had prepared myself for that. What I hadn’t prepared for was the reason we had to return so quickly.”

She closed her eyes and put her head against the trunk of the tree. “I think Rhaegar’s plans have gone awry.” Every part of her wished it was the Guildhall that had gone up in green flame. It would be no less than what the pyromancers deserved. But she recalled Lucerys Velaryon’s words about Lord Rossart and she felt herself sink in despair. “Aerys. I think he will kill Rhaegar if he catches him.”

“The green men on the Isle of Faces spoke of him, Prince Rhaegar. They believe he will be important in the wars to come.”

She eyed the little crannogman warily. “And what do you know of the wars to come?”

“The trees remember, my lady. The secrets of the old gods, truths the First Men knew, forgotten now in Winterfell, but not in the wet wild. We live closer to the green in our bogs and crannogs, and we remember. When this is over, you and Prince Rhaegar should visit Greywater Watch. We can help him.”

“Why did you come to Harrenhal, my lord?” Lyanna asked him suspiciously. Coming to his defense had started them on this path they were on now. It had begun with him being attacked by boys bigger and stronger than he was and culminated with her sitting here, waiting to find out what had happened to her husband, father and brother and others she considered her family.

“The noise and pageantry. I had never seen anything like it. We are very isolated in the Neck.”

Lyanna said nothing. She stared at him briefly before she turned her head away and looked off in the distance. It was midday when she heard horses. Ned and Walter Whent were back too soon. She stood and rushed to meet them.

“The gates are closed, Lyanna.”

“By whose orders?”

“By orders of the king, my lady. Riots have broken out in King’s Landing. There is scarce a gold cloak on the battlements or at the gates and everything we have is from smallfolk that have escaped the city. Part of the Red Keep is a smoking ruin to hear people tell it. There was wildfire in the Throne Room.”

“The Throne Room?” Lyanna asked. “Did you hear anything about --”

She saw Ned and Lord Walter exchange a look. Her brother cleared his throat. “Don’t say it,” she said. “Don’t you dare say it.” Her voice was foreign to her. She sounded shrill and confused. “Please, don’t say it. Don’t say it. I would know. I would know.”

He spoke the words anyway. “Prince Rhaegar was allegedly there when the place went up. We heard Ser Arthur and Ser Oswell were with him. There is no word of Father or Brandon.”

 _These are naught but rumors,_  Lyanna told herself. She knew how rumors were born, how they grew further and further from the truth with each telling. But this had more than a feel of truth to it.

“This is how Rhaegar’s life began, in a castle that was reduced to rubble by wildfire. But the gods spared him at Summerhall. Surely, they would not be so cruel as to take him this way now.”

She did not understand why this was happening. Why would the gods allow Aerys to go on unchecked with his cruelty and madness? “My lord,” she turned to the Lord of Harrenhal, “do you believe this?” she asked him.

“My lady, I don’t know what to think or what to believe. We know what wildfire does. If they escaped the inferno, then I am certain they will manage to make their way out of King’s Landing. Somehow. If Aerys captured them, then I’m afraid we will never see them again. He will never allow them to live after this. He will see Rhaegar’s actions as betrayal and treason. My brother and Arthur will be made an example of. Your brother, your lord father . . . he already saw traitors everywhere. This will only make everything worse.”

There would be mass executions, Lyanna realized. Her father and the men who had ridden with him to King’s Landing, her brother, Ser Arthur and Ser Oswell and Ser Myles who was the heir to Maidenpool. The men Ned and Jon Arryn had sent with Ser Oswell, Jon Connington who loved Rhaegar and had become Hand because he felt it would make him more useful. Ser Jaime would lose his head too if Aerys ever found out he had been informing on him. Richard Lonmouth and so many others would meet a traitor’s end.

And Rhaegar.

For months after she had woken from her fever dream, it was Rhaegar and Robert Baratheon coming face to face that had kept her up at night. She feared her dream would come to pass, that Rhaegar would die at that man’s hand when it was Aerys she should have been afraid of all along.

“There is no godswood here,” she whispered. “There is no weirwood. They were all cut down so long ago and no one thought to plant more. It has been so long since I knelt before a weirwood and prayed to my gods.” She drew her dagger from her boot and went to the tree nearest to her, a weeping willow, and started hacking savagely at it. It was as though a madness had seized her.

“Lyanna, stop,” Ned seized her hand. “Stop.”

“My lady, the gods of the north are everywhere around us. They know. They are listening.”

 _Bugger that and you for telling me the gods have been waiting for Rhaegar and I for a long time,_ she almost said to him.  

“If you want to scream, then scream,” Rhaegar had said to her once. “And if you want to cry, then cry. And if you want to do both, then do both. I will never judge you nor will I ever think less of you or think you weak for it.”

Rhaegar would not think less of her, but everyone else standing here, who did not know her would think if she so much as considered giving way to those emotions she was having a difficult time suppressing.

Talk of regency and all the documents Rhaegar had left between her hands sprung to her mind as she dropped to her knees, bowed her head and wrapped her arms as tightly as she could around her belly. The babe was eerily quiet and she wondered if he or she knew what was happening.

Lyanna found herself in an impossible situation. There was a war being waged between what her heart believed was the truth, that Rhaegar would come out of this. And there was that rational part of her and what her head kept telling her, that the odds were stacked against him and that she must needs prepare herself for the news that he was no more, that she would have to carry on without him.

Ned got to his knees beside her and put an arm around her shoulders as he bowed his own head next to hers in prayer. Howland Reed did the same and the other northmen in their company followed their lead and they all prayed before the tree she had tried to carve out with the face of her gods.

“Rhaegar named me regent if anything happened to him,” she said after when it was only she and Ned by the willow. “It’s only a matter of time before Aerys and the realm find out Rhaegar sired another child. I want no wars fought to place this child on the Iron Throne. I would gladly sign an abdication, but I don’t want to take their birthright from them either.”

“Then don’t. It’s too soon to make such decisions in any case. There are rumors and there is truth and right now, what we have is uncertainty. We wait and see.”

“I will never set foot in King’s Landing so long as Aerys lives. Rhaegar’s son will always be a threat to his reign. Aerys will take him from me and he will hold him hostage for the north’s good behavior if he doesn’t decide to end his life. If I give birth to a girl, he will take her from me. She will never be as dangerous to him as a boy, but Rhaegar’s daughter will have value. He will hold her hostage for the north’s good behavior and then marry her to the highest bidder. Boy or girl, I will not have a life of misery for this child. I would see them grow up whole and happy.”

He was looking at her with a frown. Ned could well be the new Lord of Winterfell and the Warden of the North by now for all they knew. He was already a rebel in the Mad King’s eyes. It made what she had to ask of him all the more difficult knowing the danger he would be placed in. She swallowed the lump in her throat.

Everything seemed to have unraveled so quickly, gone up in smoke. Aerys had taken wildfire to all the careful plans Rhaegar had made. 

“I need you to promise me something, Ned,” she told him, slipping her hand into his. He was looking back at her with apprehension but he nodded his head anyway. “If something should happen to me --”

“Nothing’s going to happen to you,” he said.

“You don't know that anymore than I do. Women die in childbed and childbed fever all the time,” she reminded him. “If something should happen to me, promise me that my child will be protected and cared for and loved.” She thought of the boy from her fever dream to whom she and Rhaegar were nothing more than an awful tale. “Promise me this child will know who Rhaegar and I are and that we have always loved them.”

She thought of the lengthy letter Rhaegar had written. Pages upon pages of words and how much more he told her he wanted to say still. She thought she should do the same, put her feelings and her love to parchment so that one day her child may know from her, in her own words that she and Rhaegar never wanted to leave them. "Promise me, Ned. Please, promise me."

“I promise, Lya,” Ned said, “I promise. Winterfell is your home and any child any of us will have will always have a home there. Father wouldn’t have it any other way and neither would Brandon. Boy or girl, your child will always be loved and protected and cared for, no matter what.”

She gave him a tremulous smile, then. “Thank you, brother.”

“Come. We should head back to camp. You need to rest and you need to eat. Hopefully we will have news during the day. Whatever happened back in King’s Landing, I don’t imagine Aerys will sit quietly while there’s a host massed so close to his gates.”

 _No, he will not,_ Lyanna thought, as her brother helped her back onto her saddle. She rode a few yards south and looked at the horizon where the smoke was still rising. Down the road was King’s Landing and the pull that was her husband. It felt as though he was calling to her. But was it him calling to her or was it the small hope she still had that he may have escaped his father’s grasp?

Unbidden, Lyanna remembered that day on the Wall when she had been so young and she remembered that night at Summerhall beneath the large silver moon when she had been still so young and she remembered that day at Lannisport when Rhaegar had leaned in and kissed her and she remembered that day beneath the smiling weirwood on the Isle of Faces when he pledged to love her and be hers for always and she remembered that day at Storm’s End when he took her maidenhead.

She remembered every stolen kiss and every stolen night and every stolen moment when they willed time to stand still. Time never stood still, though.

And she remembered that day in her godswood when he planted their first child in her womb and she remembered that rainy night in Pentos when he planted the child she carried now inside her. They were all there, these precious memories and wonderful moments that they had tried to stretch into a thousand more.

All of them graven in her mind. She would take every one of them to her grave.

She touched her hand to the necklace she now wore every day, the three-headed dragon of Targaryen wrought in red-gold and rubies and a wolf’s head wrought in steel and crusted with pearls in the center. They looked as though they were chasing one another.

Rhaegar had made her a gift of it after they’d found out she was with child. “This child is you and I.” It made her want to weep.

“Lya . . .” Ned started.

“He promised he would bring Brandon and Father out from there and return to me,” she said. “I know him. He’ll not break his word to me.”

Yet when the mournful sound of the bells tolling in the distance reached her ears, what other words she might have said caught in her throat.

Next to her she heard Lord Whent suck on his breath. “This is from the Great Sept of Baelor,” he said subdued. “Someone from the royal family has died.”

Lyanna felt what little hope remained her shatter and she could no longer keep her tears at bay. Hard as she tried. She pulled the hood of her cloak over her head to hide her face.

And while her heart screamed for her to ride for King’s Landing, it was her head that prevailed in the end as she wheeled her mare around and rode back the way she had come.

What Rhaegar wanted above all else was her safety and that of their child and she was resolved that she would give him that much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The lyrics I used in the chapter were lifted from the song "I'm gonna be," not the Pretenders' version, but Sleeping At Last's cover of the song, which is very very beautiful. It can be found here; https://youtu.be/yJ6wJqaE6o4
> 
> I decided that I needed to insert an extra chapter between this one and the next one to breach something that I felt was a gap. So the next chapter is not even written. Not even one line. And I have no plans on working on it just yet. I'm in a bit of a funk right now. I'm tired because my job takes its toll and there's a serious lack of motivation. It's actually depressing how unmotivated I am. So I do hope you guys (the ones I'm bothering finishing the story for) have enjoyed this chapter.
> 
> That said, the next chapter, **chapter 38** , will be called "Aftershock". It will overlap slightly with this current chapter. Basically all these chapters (35, 36, 37 and 38) are happening within the same timeframe.
> 
>  **Chapter 39** is called "Love Like That" but it's really just a working title. This chapter needs a lot of work.  
>  **Chapter 40** is called "Dragonspawn" as previously stated.  
>  **Chapter 41** is called "Death In Four" as previously stated.
> 
> So a line from chapter 40;  
>  _"This should have been my son. Mine. Not his."_


	41. 38: Aftershock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who is still alive and who died?

Waiting had never been his strong suit. Jon Connington was an impatient man by nature. He wanted to be in Rhaegar’s apartments, not behind the heavy oaken doors. He should never have let him ride out. But Rhaegar had a willfulness in him to match his wife’s.

“Did you look at yourself?” Jon Connington had asked his prince and stared at him bewildered. “You have a severe head injury. You are badly hurt.”

“I don’t need to look at myself,” Rhaegar had replied mildly, “I feel the pain well enough.”

“Forgive me for saying so --”

“If you want my forgiveness for saying something, then perhaps you shouldn’t say it at all,” Rhaegar had cut him.

But Jon had never been one to surrender so easily. "What you are planning on doing borders on madness. Putting your life at risk like this and riding into a riot. And for what? To try and spare the lives of people whose first instinct is to turn on one another the moment something goes awry?” Jon had asked him. “They will tear you limb for limb.”

Rhaegar had shaken his head at that, slowly, painfully, dismissing his words and Jon saw blood trickle down his neck and onto the collar of what was once a pristine white tunic, soaking it further with red. “Gods be good! Haven’t you had enough for one day?” he’d asked him. “You were barely breathing when we found you.”

“I am well aware of that,” the prince had replied, his voice bearing a hint of impatience.

“Why are you minimizing what happened to you? Do you wish to die? Is that it? Everything you’ve worked toward would be for naught if you are killed.”

Rhaegar had leveled him with one of those cold stares he had mastered years ago as he was helped up to his horse. Jon did not miss the long bloodied gash on his leg or the way the prince had closed his eyes tightly and winced as he adjusted himself in his saddle.

Aye. What else was this but madness?

Jon had been convinced Rhaegar had died when he’d come upon the Great Hall. Even the explosions of wildfire and the violence with which the ground shook had not been half as frightening as that.

The ride from Visenya’s Hill to the Red Keep felt as though it had taken hours rather than minutes. By then, the ceiling inside the Throne Room had caved in and the better part of it was engulfed with green flame. The smoke had been so black and thick, Jon's eyes had burned and watered and he could hardly see anything.

 _This is what nightmares are made of. This is what the mouth of hell looks like,_ Jon had thought with desperation.

It shamed him to think back on it now, but he had been terrified of entering the hall. He had seen men burn, had heard their shrieks of pain and seen their suffering. Jon Connington was not afraid of dying, but he did not want to die like this, crying out for his mother and screaming in agony.

Mayhaps he was asleep, he had decided. And when he woke, this feeling of terror would be gone.

He had been wide awake, though. He was wide awake and the Red Keep was burning and Rhaegar was inside.

Some of Ser Oswell’s clothes had caught fire, he saw, when he and Ser Gerold and others had stepped into the hall, and Arthur had been trying to smother the flames with his own cloak, trying to tamp them down with his hands. And Brandon Stark had been trying to free his leg from under a fallen column to no avail.

The heat had been blistering and Jon felt the soles of his feet burn through the leather of his boots wherever he set them.

It had been a mad scramble to get the two injured men out, though Oswell had been able to walk out on his own.

Finding Rhaegar in the burning room had been more than difficult, though. He had somehow gotten separated from his companions and Jon felt naught but horror after Ser Gerold had finally caught sight of him. The Prince of Dragonstone was lying in a puddle of his own blood and had been wreathed with green flame, making him look as though he had been on his funeral pyre. Fire had been all about him, creeping up on him, though the only part of him it seemed to want to touch was his hair.

 _No,_ he’d thought in despair.

Jon Connington had been certain Rhaegar would never open his eyes again. And as he stood there, all he could think was that he did not know how he would ever be able to break the news to Queen Rhaella that her son was gone from the world. All he could think was that he would not be able to bear to look into Lyanna Stark's eyes. He could not bear the thought of her heart break when she found out.

But Rhaegar had stirred and lifted his head, seemingly trying to rise before he had collapsed back to the ground, hitting his head hard. He did not move again after that.

It had been Ser Gerold who had braved the circle of fire to get to him. He had lifted him over his shoulder with effort and carried him off to safety as men ran toward the hall to try and put the fire out.

“I have to return. I saw Aerys on the throne.”

“Uncle, you will not make it back alive,” Arthur had protested.

“I was at Summerhall the day it burned down, boy,” the lord commander had replied. “It was my cloak your prince was swaddled in when we managed to take him from the blaze,” the old knight had replied. “Jaime, don’t just stand there gawking. Fetch a maester. Now!”

“I will come with you.”

“You stay where you are and well out of my sight, Arthur. How is it that clever men can be so witless?” He’d looked at Oswell who was slumped against the wall, out of his armor, breathing heavily before he laid down and put a blistered arm over his face. “My insides feel charred,” he’d said with a voice Jon had scarce recognized.

“Witless?”  Arthur had asked. No one would know he was wearing the whites of the Kingsguard so black with smoke and burnt in places it was. “Wildfire was not part of the plan. We knew none of this until we were donning our armors,” he defended their actions.

Jon had gotten down to his knees beside Rhaegar after he’d been lowered to the ground. “His breathing is labored,” he told them just as the prince turned to his side laboriously and began to cough in earnest.

Rhaegar had looked a proper mess. His head was bleeding from the back and there was a large bruise on his forehead. His skin was dark from ash and streaked with sweat, his hair was burned where it had caught fire. His face had been cut where he had been hit with debris. Jon saw his left arm was hanging loose after he had taken care to remove the armor piece by piece. Dislocated most like, he thought.

And those were injuries that were visible to the eye. Jon did not want to know what lurked beneath the layers of clothing he wore.

Rhaegar looked as though he had been through war. As did Arthur and Oswell and Brandon Stark whose leg had been crushed. Jon was no maester, but he thought it would be a small miracle if they managed to save the leg. Lord Stark who had ridden back with him from the Great Sept of Baelor was there, cradling his wayward son’s head in his lap. He'd looked as confused by this turn of event as Jon did.

“We are lucky Rhaegar lives at all. If we’d lost him, then all would have been lost. And then what?” Ser Gerold asked his nephew dismayed. “Your sword hand is badly burned. It needs to be tended to before it festers.” With that, he was gone to find his king.

“Rhaegar. Can you hear me?” Arthur had asked, putting his injured hands on the cool ground to try and have some relief from the pain he was in.

Rhaegar did not answer yes and did not answer no to the question that was posed. Instead he whispered his wife’s name and started coughing anew.

“Lyanna,” he’d repeated her name faintly. “The maester says she’ll die if her fever doesn’t break. And there is nothing I can do but watch. It is so damnably cruel. It feels as though the light is slowly fading from my life,” he’d spoken the words haltingly and Jon saw a tear and then another trickle down the bridge of his nose and to the side of his face. He looked at Arthur who was beside them and shook his head.

Inevitably, it always seemed to go back to Harrenhal for Rhaegar. The greatest tourney ever held. It had been Rhaegar’s glory and failure all at once. He’d won the day and almost lost the girl.

And it was as though the state his friend had been in was allowing him to give way to some of the anguish he’d felt months ago. “What am I to do if she dies? I could forgive Aerys for a lot. But not this. Never this. How could my father have become such a monster?” he'd muttered.

“Rhaegar. Come, brother, this happened a while ago,” Arthur had shaken him gently. “Lady Lyanna’s fever broke a while back. She is healthy as can be.”

His eyes had flown open at that and he inhaled a deep breath that set him to coughing again. He struggled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. “I have a splitting headache,” he said. “Where am I?”

“The Queen’s Ballroom,” Arthur had replied.

“I remember now. My father?”

“We don’t know. My uncle has gone to find him.”

“Help me sit.” Rhaegar extended a hand and Jon pulled him up and helped him lean against the wall. Once he was comfortable enough, he cradled his bad arm against his chest. When he caught sight of Rickard Stark and his son, his eyes widened. “Is he --?” he could not get the words out.

Lord Stark shook his head. “Just passed from the pain.”

“His leg . . .”

“Better that than death. Though he’ll not like it and it will take him a long time accept it.”

“I shouldn’t have let him come with me. I am sorry for it.”

“He made his choice, Your Grace. Brandon wanted to do this. He was trying to redeem himself in my eyes for riding here heedless, and he wanted to redeem himself in your eyes for the accusations he made. But the person whose opinion truly mattered to him was his sister’s and I have no doubt he did this for her mostly.”

“When the ceiling started coming down, he pushed me out of the way,” Rhaegar had finally said.

Lord Stark stared at him briefly. “He it did knowing it could cost him his life. He swore you his sword and did his duty by you. I wouldn’t have expected anything less from him.”

Rhaegar nodded at that and looked at Oswell Whent. “Os.”

“I’m still alive,” the Kingsguard muttered. “It’s not as bad as it looks.”

“What happened?” Rhaegar asked. “The ground . . .”

“Something went awry at the Iron Gate. I think the explosion there set off whatever happened inside the Great Hall,” Jon had explained. “Jon Darry and Lewyn Martell barely escaped with their lives. There are fires on the Street of Flour and near Cobblestone Square.”

“Your Grace,” Lord Stark said when Rhaegar made to stand, “you must stay still. You could harm yourself further if you don’t.” He stopped moving and when he rubbed the back of his head, his hand came away stained with blood. Rhaegar stared at it before he wiped it on his breeches.

By then Myles and Ser Jaime had arrived with a tail of stewards and maesters who had knelt beside Rhaegar and the other men who had been injured.

“Riots have broken out,” Myles said and Jon could have clobbered him for opening his mouth and speaking those words when he saw the way Rhaegar had stiffened. 

“Maester, please take care of the shoulder. The rest will have to wait.” He’d had the wind knocked out of him when the shoulder had been forced back into its socket and placed in a torn piece of fabric. Jon saw his brow was dotted with beads of sweat, but through it all he had not made a sound but had bitten down on his lip so hard instead, it had begun to bleed. 

Yet somehow, through the pain he had been in, he’d found his second wind after hearing of the riots. His voice sounded as strong and as confident as Jon had ever known it to be. 

He managed to stand after that, putting a hand on the wall to steady himself. “Find chambers for Lord Stark and his son,” he commanded one of the stewards standing there. “Please see to their comfort and give them whatever they need.” He turned to Arthur and Oswell who were being tended to. “You two, I want you in your cells.”

“Rest can wait,” Arthur had replied as he rose to his feet. His hands had been crudely bandaged and looked to be paining him. Oswell did the same, albeit more slowly. Rhaegar shook his head at them but said nothing. 

“And you?” Jon asked him. “You need rest.”

“You need not concern yourself with me,” he replied. “Myles. You’re with me. Ser Jaime, how is your sword arm?”

“At your ready, Your Grace,” Jaime Lannister had replied.

“Very well. Find your other brothers and meet us by the stables in ten minutes.” Jon’s blood ran cold at that. 

But it was Oswell who’d spoken up. “This is a terrible idea. You don’t need to put yourself in the middle of a crowd that’s filled with bloodlust.”

But Jon had seen the look in Rhaegar’s eye. They had all seen it well enough. He meant to do this come hell or high water.

He limping down the hall. Oswell followed him with a sigh and after him came Arthur and Jon. 

“Has the blow to your head addled your wits?” Jon had asked him. “You can barely put weight on your leg. Your arm has just been forced back into place. The back of your head is a bloodied mess. You need to have it checked and your wounds must needs be washed and stitched. You were passed out when we found you. You didn’t even know where you were.”

“Stop it! You are worse than my mother,” the prince retorted impatiently. “I came to the city to take it and take it I will.”

“You have a wife waiting for you to return and who will be beside herself with worry whenever news of what’s happened here reaches her ears. Do you not want to see her again? You have a child on the way. Do you not want to hold him or her when it is born? Would you make him an orphan?” Jon asked him in a desperate final attempt to make him change his mind.

Rhaegar had looked at him with displeasure. “Your words are unfair and emotional manipulation is beneath you, my lord. Aye. I want to see my wife and hold my child. There are a lot of things I want and none of them entail what's happened here on this day. I have to try or everything we’ve worked for, everything that we went through in the past few hours will have been for nothing. The people that have died, the ones that have been injured, it has to count for something. My mother and brother are beyond the gates. And I cannot bring Lyanna here safely if the city is rioting. I refuse to be swept up by today’s events and I refuse to begin my regency with a bloodbath in my city.”

_ Regency, _ Jon thought. He did not believe that a regency would be needed. As far as he was concerned, the only thing Ser Gerold would be bringing out of the Great Hall was Aerys's dead body. Jon was speaking to his king, but Rhaegar would never acknowledge this until he had to. 

“Let the gold cloaks handle it! That’s what they are paid to do.”

“They are going with me.” There was no swaying him in this.

Jon had followed him to the stables, saddled his horse himself and mounted. “How much pain are you in?” he'd asked.

“A lot,” Rhaegar had replied. Jon saw it plainly enough. It was etched on every line of his face and the way he held himself, he looked as though he might collapse at any moment. 

Around them, the gold cloaks began to march out of the gate that separated the Red Keep from the rest of King’s Landing. “Ser Barristan,” Rhaegar said, “I will ride ahead of the column.”

The Kingsguard looked at him disapprovingly, but nodded nonetheless.

Jon understood well enough what Rhaegar wanted to do. The people of King’s Landing loved him and he wanted them to see him in the state he was in, with his body bloodied and his clothes burned and in tatters. He wanted them to see his injuries and that he too had just gone through something similar to them. 

With every yard they rode, the sound of the crowd became louder. There was screaming and shouting and fighting when they came upon men and women alike. Some of them turned and gaped at their prince. They were a shocking sight, Jon had no doubt. 

A woman had burst in tears and fallen to the ground at the sight of Rhaegar, repeating over and over that the gods were good. And some voices whispered, “Prince Rhaegar is here.”

“Help her up gently,” Rhaegar commanded one of the gold cloaks. “Sound the horn, Myles. The fighting has to stop.” 

Myles did as he was bid. Three times it took for all the heads to finally turn toward them. Some stared at them with annoyance at first, but they hushed when they saw the prince. 

Rhaegar used his stirrups and pulled himself to a standing position with difficulty, towering above everyone. Even in the state he was in, he still looked half a god and his presence alone commanded respect.

“What is the meaning of this,” he boomed, using the voice he might have used in a battlefield and Jon saw some people flinch at his tone, stern and chastising. “This is at an end!” His voice was now cold and sharp as steal. “I will have no rioting. I will have no murders, I will have no raping and I will have no thieving. Anyone who incites rioting will be beheaded without a trial. And do not count on joining the Night’s Watch for the crimes that I have listed. I will not grant you this mercy.”

“We are under attack!” a man yelled out and other voices rose along with him. Myles sounded the horn to quiet the crowd down again.

“And instead of standing together, your solution to an attack is to turn on each other? Is that the way of it?” he asked, angry. “I will not tolerate this.” His eyes moved over the crowd. “There is no attack on King’s Landing,” he said. “The host that’s is north of us means us no harm.” 

“They are going to starve us out.”

“No. The host will be breaking up soon.” He'd seemed to consider his words for a brief moment before he spoke up again. “I’ll not lie to you about this. There is wildfire in the city and we are working on having it removed as safely as possible. If you have no business outside your homes, then stay in and if you happen upon a jar, then let the gold cloaks know and the acolytes of the Guildhall will remove them. If we have to evacuate a neighborhood, then you will leave calmly and quietly. I need your assistance in this for our collective safety.” 

He began to cough and Lewyn Martell passed him the skin of water he carried around everywhere and Rhaegar drank deeply and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, leaving a streak of black and blood across his lips. He never looked dirtier, Jon thought, but the people in the crowd did not seem to care in the least. 

He had been right. Perhaps he understood these people better than Jon had given him credit. Rhaegar was familiar with the streets of King’s Landing and those who lived in it. And they knew him. He’d sat in their taverns and inns, he spoke to them, came to take petitions before Aerys forbade him. 

Ser Jaime and Richard had told him that the populace had not taken kindly to what Aerys had done to Lyanna Stark and they’d told him of the anger and resentment they had seen when they found out their prince’s wife had miscarried the child she bore. 

“By order of the king,” Jon spoke in Rhaegar’s stead, “the gates will remain closed and there will be a curfew. This is a safety measure. We are all in this together. As you can tell by the smoke rising from Aegon’s High Hill, the Red Keep is no safer.”

“The pyromancers should pay for this,” a woman yelled out and others followed suit, demanding blood.

“And they will. Ser Jaime,” Rhaegar had asked the young Kingsguard, “which one did you kill?”

“Rossart, Your Grace. He was moving jars into the training yard when I found him.”

“The Grand Master is slain. I promise you there will be trials. Those who are innocent will be able to walk from this and those who are guilty will pay for what they’ve done.”

“We should march on the Guildhall and burn it down!”

“You will do no such thing! Once the city is safe, the Guildhall will be closed and the order will be disbanded.”

“Are you here for good, Your Grace?”

“Is it true you married that she-wolf?”  Questions were thrown at him from all corners.

“I have been married to Lyanna Stark for close to two years now, that is true.” And as he said that he smiled one of those open and genuine smiles whenever he spoke of his wife. “And yes, I am here for good. Things are going to be different from here on out. I want better for our city and all that live in it. Those who have lost people in this awful nightmare, I could not be sorrier for it. Bring your dead to the Great Sept. The silent sisters will see to them and the High Septon will pray over them and I will see to it that they have proper burials. I can’t bring your loved ones back, but I can help you send them off into the next world with dignity. There will be riders in the city to spread the word. I will not have them molested. In the meantime, go home. This has been a trying few hours for all of us.”

He sat back in his saddle with great pain and wheeled his horse around and they began riding up to Aegon’s High Hill. People paused and watched him pass, whispering his name or shouting it. 

The situation was at best precarious and King’s Landing still felt like a tinderbox that could explode at any moment, but the news that Rhaegar had returned home seemed to keep a lid on things in this part of town at least. “Jon, send someone to the High Septon and let him know what to expect. Tell him the funeral expenses will be handled by the crown. It’s the least we can do after what Aerys has done. I want the gold cloaks on patrols.”

No sooner were they back inside the gates of the Red Keep, safe and sound that Rhaegar had slumped on his horse. It took him much effort to climb down. He had been on firm ground for a second before he turned around and retched in the bushes. Water and bile mingled with blood. “I’m not feeling well,” he said softly. 

All the energy he'd had while surrounded with smallfolk seemed to have been drained from him. He touched to his forehead with the heel of his hand where the bruise was and squeezed his eyes shut. Ser Barristan and Lewyn Martell moved to support him and they walked quickly with him between them across the drawbridge that led into Maegor’s Holdfast. 

Jon followed closely. “I want the drawbridge raised. I need to write to Stokeworth. Lyanna cannot stay in that camp any longer and I can’t bring her here now.”

“I’ll send a raven to Stokeworth to expect her and a rider to Lady Lyanna.”

“I know she will hear of this and the last thing I want is for her to get it in her head to --” he was interrupted by a cough, “ride here. I don’t want her riding here. Gods, my chest is on fire,” he said weakly.

For the first time, while he waited behind Rhaegar’s door, Jon Connington tasted ash in his mouth. Smoke was still rising above them even though he knew the fire had been put out. 

He startled when Queen Rhaella entered the antechamber. She was supposed to be beyond the walls of the city, on one of Rhaegar’s ships, waiting. Yet there she was, returned. Jon wondered if she had left the Red Keep at all. He did not ask her. It was not his place to question his queen.

“How is Prince Viserys?” he asked her with a tired voice.

“For him this was a grand adventure. He is in his chambers. Asleep.” Then all the softness in her was gone and she looked at him angrily. “You are the Hand and his friend. You shouldn’t have let him do this. It was madness.”

“Aye. Madness. This was always his madness. I tried to stop him, but there was no talking him out of it.”

“He put his life at risk and for what?” she demanded to know. “They are rioting down in Flea Bottom.”

He shrugged at that. Jon was grateful Rhaegar had not gotten it in his head to go there. If it was left up to him, Jon would level Flea Bottom, raze it to its very foundations and send half its people to the Wall. He had no doubt it would help with the stench of the city. "The gold cloaks will handle it."

“I am going to see him.”

“No,” Jon said.

“No?”

“Prince Rhaegar has an army of maesters inside with him and Ser Barristan is there looking after him. With respect, Your Grace, the prince does not need his mother hovering over him as though he is still a boy of five.”

Jon would not allow her in. 

Protector of the Realm, Lord Regent or king, as far as Jon Connington was concerned, today was the start of Rhaegar’s reign over the Seven Kingdoms and the stakes were too high. The realm would laugh at him, lose respect for him if they as much as a got a whiff of Rhaella entering her son’s chambers while he was being tended to.

“He is my son,” she retorted.

Why was she choosing this moment to be so combative, Jon wondered. He was not equipped to deal with women. Most times, women made him feel ill at ease. “He is a grown man with a wife,” he countered.

“And where is his wife?” she demanded to know. “She should be here by his side in the same way he was when she was ailing. Rhaegar said she almost died. And he was by her, holding her hand and praying for her.”

Jon sighed. “Rhaegar is not dying. He is hurt and he is exhausted, but he’s not dying.” _He could not be dying._ “Her Grace is where she is supposed to be.”

“Where she is supposed to be?” Queen Rhaella asked. “Her husband’s side is where she is supposed to be. I will write her and command her to come.”

“You will do no such thing!” he replied harshly. “Lady Lyanna is with child and Prince Rhaegar does not want her to come near King’s Landing so long as it is unstable. I will not disobey his command in this.”

He would not risk her life and that of the child’s. If he brought her to King’s Landing and something happened to her, Rhaegar would never forgive him and Jon would never forgive himself. “Lady Lyanna will be going to Stokeworth and there she will remain until for Prince Rhaegar rides to fetch her back to the city. He wants them to enter King’s Landing together with an honor guard. He wants the smallfolk to see her and see them together.”

There was wisdom in that and it was a long time coming. Jon would not take that moment from his prince or his lady.

“She’s pregnant?” The queen seemed to be taking the news in strides, but her face was devoid of emotion. 

Jon nodded. “She is. Nigh on six months, I think.”

“Rhaegar said nothing to me.”

He felt bad for being the one to break the news to her. “I should not have said anything. He wanted to tell you himself when things had quieted down and he was finally able to sit with you. Lord Stark still doesn’t know and Lady Lyanna needs no prompting from anyone to ride here heedless. I know this is where she'll want to be. But she can't. Too much rests of the shoulders of a child that has yet to be born.”  

She nodded. “Did you send for that doddering fool Pycelle? He should be looking after Rhaegar,” the queen said and Jon felt irritated with her. She should be in her chambers washing and changing into her court clothes. He did not think she would budge from where she stood, though, and he was in no mood to go toe to toe with her in this. 

Gods be good, he thought, this must be where Rhaegar got that hard head of his from. Rhaella had always been so mild-mannered. It was as though she had been let out of her cage.

“Your Grace will recall the Grand Maester has been arrested for treason,” he replied curtly. “The man has forgotten the vows he took. He is Tywin Lannister’s creature and I’ll not have him near His Grace.”

She stared at him for half a heartbeat. “With everything that’s happened I had forgotten.” She lifted her hand to the seven-pointed crystal she still wore about her neck still and clutched at it. 

“There is blood on your sleeve, Your Grace. Are you hurt? Should I send for a maester?”

“Am I hurt?” she asked him confused. She seemed dazed. 

“You ought to be resting, Your Grace,” he said with a conciliatory tone, “it has been a long night. Have you eaten?”

“I don’t need to rest and I don’t need food,” she replied examining her sleeve. “It’s not my blood. It could be anyone’s.” 

Jon stared at her puzzled. As far as he knew, she had been with Prince Viserys and the septa. “Was Prince Viserys injured?”

“What sort of mother do you take me for?” she asked him with scorn. “Do you think I would leave my injured son alone? The blood is not his.”

“I apologize, Your Grace. I did not mean anything by it. I am only trying to look after you is all,” he told her genuinely contrite. “Should I call one of your ladies? A bath and a change of clothes before visiting with Prince Rhaegar.”

“Stop trying to send me away! I am not going. If you mention it one more time, you will be the one sent away. Rhaegar is my blood. Not yours.”  Her fire was lit and she was well and angry with him now. He did not doubt for a moment that she would send him away like a chastened boy. 

She turned her gaze away from him and stared at the same door he had been staring at. “He was all that I had for so long,” she whispered. “Losing a child is such an unbearable pain and I never wanted him to suffer through it. I think Aerys’s madness was exacerbated by all the failed pregnancies and all the sons we lost. Parents should not have to outlive their children and I cannot bear to outlive Rhaegar. He was always my special boy. I should have protected him better from Aerys.”

“My lady, you did all that you could,” Jon said. 

“I acted far too late. The wildfire. What madness possessed him to do such a thing? His own son,” she whispered.  “Wasn’t it enough that he stole the life of his grandchild? A precious life was lost and for what?”

The door opened before Jon could say anything. “Your Grace. My Lord Hand. Prince Rhaegar wishes to see you, my lord.”

Rhaegar was in his bed. He had been bathed, his hair shorn very short and he had been put in clean clothes. His head was bandaged, his arm was in a sling and his injured leg rested on top of pillows. Where the collar of his shirt was open, Jon saw bruises on his chest. It made him wince. “Her Grace is here,” Jon finally said.

“Lyanna?” he asked him with confusion. “How?”

“No. Your lady mother.”

Rhaegar may not have wanted his wife to ride to King’s Landing, but he could not hide his disappointment that she was not here. He nodded his head and the queen stepped in. “You never left the castle,” he stated.

“No. We never had time.”

He stared at her, searching her face and then leaned back into his pillows. “Before the milk of the poppy pulls me under. The letters, Jon.”

He handed them over and Rhaegar read them. Jon gave him a quill and watched him sign the one going to Stokeworth and add a couple of lines at the bottom of the one that would be sent to Lady Lyanna. “The city?”

“Riots in Flea Bottom. But that was to be expected.”

Rhaegar cursed under his breath and looked above his shoulder. When Jon turned, he saw Jaime Lannister speaking to Ser Barristan. “What is it?” the prince asked them.

“Ser Gerold has died,” Ser Jaime said and Queen Rhaella let out a sob and covered her mouth with her hand. “His body has been recovered. Ser Arthur has been informed of it. He is trying to locate his brother and the Tyrell boy to inform them of this.”

“What else?” Rhaegar asked stoically.

“The king is dead, Your Grace,” Ser Barristan said with a grave tone. All heads turned toward Rhaegar and Jon saw genuine pain in those indigo eyes.

Ser Barristan was the first one to bend his knee, followed by Ser Jaime, the maesters, Jon and then the queen. “Long live the king,” they said at once.

He bid them rise. “Mother, please see to the preparations for his funeral.” She was in tears and Jon did not know if her pain was for the man who had always been so kind to her or the one who had been the father of her children. Somehow, he thought it was the former.

“Jon, the jerkin I was wearing, the inside pocket, there’s a folded paper. Can you find it for me, please?”

Jon saw the clothes in a heap in a corner. He picked up the jerkin and found it. It was stained with blood, but Jon knew at once what it was. He handed it over to Rhaegar who took it to his hand, then held it to his heart. “Send the septon to the Great Sept, Ser Barristan. The bells must needs be tolled for our late king, my father.”

He then closed his eyes as the milk of the poppy pulled him into sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't really have much to say. It took longer to write mainly because I was trying to decide injuries and if I was going to do away with Brandon Stark or not. I knew from the get go that Ser Gerold and Aerys were going to die. But I waffled a lot on Brandon, even after I had decided he was going to live a while back, I came back to it and wondered if I shouldn't just kill him off, but in the end I decided not to go there because I'd have to address the grief that comes with the loss of a sibling and I did not want to do it because of my own experience losing my sister years ago. I didn't want to dig into my personal experience and it would have added more chapters to the story, which I am trying to finish. 
> 
> Next chapter's definitive title is "Precious Love."
> 
> I can't really give a snippet for it because it was pretty much shredded. I moved a few things from it into this chapter because it made a lot more sense that way. 
> 
> I'm extremely busy with real life right now, so I don't want anyone to expect the next chapter to be posted too soon. 
> 
> Thank you for your comments, welcome new readers who have left comments :)


	42. 39: Precious Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm adding this note a day after this chapter has been posted. I suggest "World on Fire" which was the Aerys chapter be given another looksy, before or after this chapter is read.

_Choices. So many choices,_ Rhaella Targaryen thought as she looked at the collection of dresses she had in her wardrobe, trying to decide which black one to wear.

It seemed like such a trivial matter, but the clothes she wore were the only power she truly ever held.

For as long as she could remember, Rhaella had never been given much of a choice in anything. As a Targaryen princess, duty had to always come first.

And duty had begun with her parents choosing a husband for her. It had not been the man she wanted, though. No. It was the brother she could scarce stand, to have with him a child who would some day save the world. “Rhaella, you must needs understand,” her mother had spoken softly to her, “I know you and Aerys are not the best of friends, but the woods witch is adamant that the prince that was promised will come from yours and your brother’s line. This is not just about you and your feelings on the matter. But I promise you, whether you love their father or not, you will love the children he will give you.”

“But I wish to visit the Wall. And I want to go see Braavos and Lys. Can’t it wait?”

“There will be time enough for that, sweetling.”

She’d never hated her parents more than she did then. But Rhaella had done as she was bid. She always did as she was bid. It was her duty to marry the man her parents had chosen for her even though her grandfather had been opposed to it and it was her duty to bear and birth the child who would be the future of the realm and it was her duty to give him siblings.

It had all come at a personal cost, though. She had been married and had become pregnant far too young. She had struggled so much to deliver her child. Every spasm of pain felt as though her own life was being drained from her slowly. She had brought her son forth into the world in pain and blood and fire.

And if she had survived that, she reminded herself constantly, as her life with Aerys deteriorated and as she lost her little ones one by one, then she could survive anything.

For so long all she'd had was Rhaegar who had been her inexhaustible well of strength and love. All she ever had to do was look upon him to remember what it was that she lived for. There had been nothing more precious in her life than her son or the love she had for him and he for her. And when he had become a man grown and needed her less, Viserys had come along.

Rhaella may have been born a princess and she may have been the queen of the Seven Kingdoms, but she might as well have been a swineherd for all that it gave her. She had no true freedom. She could never speak her mind freely, though she wished to. Obedience was expected of her, so she obeyed.

But obedience had never gotten her far. Obedience had not stopped her from being abused verbally and physically. Obedience had not stopped her from being belittled, laughed at, called a traitor.

Aerys had treated her like something that had been scraped off the bottom of his shoe.

But Rhaella did have the most beautiful wardrobe and the most beautiful jewels in the Seven Kingdoms. She did not have her husband’s respect or love or trust, but she did have a wardrobe filled with gorgeous velvets and silks and satins and samites and damasks and lace from all corners of the world.

And the colors! So vibrant! Purples and reds and golden yellows and pearl greys and greens as deep as the color of the woods in the height of summer. And she could choose what she wanted to wear unless she was commanded to wear something else.

Her handmaid pulled out a simple black dress slashed with crimson at the sleeves and Rhaella sighed.

What She really wanted to wear was the peach-colored silk that was trimmed with the beautiful deep pink Myrish lace, making the dress look like the most gorgeous of sunsets. She wanted to wear it with the heavy amethyst necklace and her silver bracelets. She wanted to put earrings on and she wanted to dab the inside of her wrists and the hollow of her throat with her jasmine perfume.

But she was still a queen, the _old queen_ as she was now dubbed about the castle, and she must still keep up appearances. If they only knew how glad she was that the man who had tormented her all her days was finally dead, his body reduced to nothing but ash.

They’d found him impaled upon his throne, she recalled dimly. Had there ever been a more fitting end for a man and king such as he?  

“Your Grace, it pains me to see you cry,” the handmaid said with a sweet voice, pressing a handkerchief into her hands to dry tears Rhaella had not even realized she had been shedding. “His Grace was a tormented man. He is in a better place now.”

 _No, he is rotting in some hell if the gods are good_ _and these tears are ones of relief that he is finally dead._ She could never say those words, though, so she kept them locked inside her heart just as she did every single secret she’d ever had.

Her handmaid could say Aerys had been a tormented man as often as she wanted, the truth was other. And the mood around the Red Keep had shifted considerably from one of fear that the Mad King could take his anger out on anyone he chose to one of relief that the king the realm needed had finally ascended.  

Rhaegar was as different from his father as day was from night.

But for the men lingering in the black cells, no one inside the Red Keep seemed to mourn Aerys. 

Instead, the sadness and the heartbreak and the tears had been reserved for Ser Gerold Hightower. He had gone into the blaze and had died where he had stood sentinel for decades upon decades, at the bottom of the steps that led up to the Iron Throne.

She could scarce sleep or eat after she’d found out the old knight had passed on. He had been like a father to her, ever there, ever the steady presence in her life. He had been the strong shoulder she had leaned on when she had been a new mother and felt so alone in the world.

His grave was not one she would able to visit, though. His final resting place was Oldtown and the Hightower crypts. She had gone to the chambers that had once been his and had now been emptied of his things and scrubbed of any trace of him and sat there, pretending he was alive and holding a one way conversation with him.

"I am with child," she'd breathed the words out in the empty apartments. "I thought that part of my life was over. I went to the Great Hall," she's whispered of what she'd done on the day he and Aerys had died, "I climbed the steps that led up to where he sat . . ." 

Had Ser Gerold been alive, had he heard the words she had spoken . . . she wondered if he would have ever been able to look on her face again, so ashamed of her actions he might have been.

The thought hurt her heart, but what she had done was for love of her children. And Rhaella was a mother, first and foremost. Surely he would have understood that.

“Which veil do you wish to wear?” her handmaid asked her. “There’s the black Myrish lace with the black pearls. There’s the --”

“No. I’ll not wear a veil. And I’ll not wear the black dress either,” Rhaella replied. She was sick unto death of wearing mourning clothes and she was sick unto death of this mummer’s farce.

The handmaid stared at her with confusion, then turned around and put the dress away. “The smoke grey damask and the coat of cloth-of-silver. The one with the puffed sleeve and stiff collar, perhaps?” she asked Rhaella. “And you could wear the spun silver hair net? We can add the pearl bracelet if it please Your Grace?”

Rhaella nodded at that and squeezed the girl’s hand in gratitude. “Yes. That sounds wonderful. And on the morrow, I’ll want my new indigo dress to welcome my daughter home.”

"Everyone is looking forward to seeing the little queen," the handmaid said with a smile. 

When she was finally dressed and her hair had been tucked into the net, Rhaella picked up the dress pin Rhaegar had gifted her years past upon his return from his first journey to Essos. A three inch long silver pin with a moonstone sculpted she-dragon, her wings spread over her eggs protectively. She fastened it to her coat and crossed from her bedchamber into her solar where Lord Rickard Stark was standing by the large window that overlooked the drawbridge, his hands clasped behind his back, watching children at their play.

Far in the distance, beyond the walls of the Red Keep, Rhaella could make out the dome structure and the seven crystal towers of the Sept of Baelor atop Visenya’s Hill where Rhaegar was on the seventh and last day of his confinement.

Rickard Stark turned around when he heard noise and bowed to her before he took the hand she presented him and kissed it gallantly.

He looked different with his trimmed beard and trimmed hair and clean clothes. He was not so tall as Aerys had been, but he was broad of chest as Aerys had never been. And he exuded quiet dignity in a way Aerys never had. But for the lines around his eyes and the silver that shot through his beard and the hair at his temples, Lord Rickard had not aged a day since she had seen him all those years ago.

It shamed her to know how close he had come to dying a traitor's death.

“Thank you for the invitation, Your Grace,” he spoke and Rhaella gestured him to the window seat.

There had been no time to sit and no time to talk. Too much had happened and the days had gone by quickly. Rhaella was awake at dawn and somehow, before she knew it, the sun was setting.

She’d barely spent time with Rhaegar before he had taken himself into a penitent cell to pray after an endless string of funerals and burials he had insisted on attending.

He’d wanted the people of King’s Landing to know he cared what happened to them. He’d spoken to those who wanted to speak to him and visited every place that had been gutted by wildfire. He promised that work would begin as soon as the gates were reopened. And when he was asked when the young queen would be back, his answer had been the same. Only when the seven gates were open.

“Woodworkers, stonemasons, smiths, apprentices, cooks, will be hired to repair and rebuild the Red Keep and any buildings and streets that have been destroyed by the blaze. The people who will be given priority are the ones who live here. There’s going to be work for years to come here. The city has grown too small for the population and I was thinking that we should push past the gates. Once Oberyn Martell has accepted my offer to be my envoy in the southern part of Essos, his first order of business will be to negotiate a fair price for Myrish glass. I want us to have glass gardens like they do at Winterfell. What we grow there may be the difference between life and death during a long winter,” she overheard him speak to Jon Connington.

“That’s going to cost a lot of coin.”

“If Aerys hadn’t tried to blow the city up, I wouldn’t have to spend coin on rebuilding what he destroyed.”

Rhaella had only seen Lord Stark twice. Once at Aerys’s own funeral, when his body had been consigned to the flames after the yard of the Red Keep had been cleared of wildfire and another while she was visiting with his son, Brandon.

“There is no need for such formalities, my lord. We are bound by our children’s marriage. And we will be grandparents together very soon. This was long overdue.”

“I must admit, this news of the pregnancy has been like a balm after all that has happened.”

Rhaella had been somewhat stunned by the news. She had not understood why Rhaegar had not written to let her know. “Lyanna and I agreed that you should hear it directly from us,” he’d explained to her. “More than that, though, I did not want the news to spread inside the castle. I did not believe Aerys would be happy about it and I worried he would take his anger out on you.”

She loved him for wanting to protect her, but still. She wished she’d known. She had been devastated when the news of the miscarriage had reached her. She had even feared that Lyanna would not be able to bear another child again. News of pregnancy would have set her mind at ease.

“This will always feel odd to me,” Lord Stark said, “Lyanna was not intent on marriage or children. She wanted to mother every stray animal she ever found in the wolfswood, making any ride we took together there a painful experience. She wanted to live in the Frostfangs and hunt seal or walk the demon road and ride with the Dothraki. Babes held her attention for about as long as it took her to inhale and exhale a breath. To think that in some three moon’s turns, she will be holding her own child in her arms . . . with everything that’s happened --”

The rest he left unsaid. What more could any of them say that would undo all the terrible things that Aerys had done. Rhaegar had spoken in length about how much Lyanna had struggled after her miscarriage and those feelings of inadequacy Rhaella knew all too well. It had broken her heart to finally know the state her good-daughter had been in after the loss she had suffered and the way it had happened. “Lya had wanted a different name at first, but in the end we settled on Elaena.”

“It’s a beautiful name,” Rhaella had told her son. A beautiful name for a beautiful little girl who would never be.

She remembered Lyanna when she had first come to King’s Landing to take up service with her. And engaging and sweet girl, with smiles for everyone. Lyanna had always been a girl who was confident in her abilities and had the strength of her convictions.

She would never had armored herself in plate and entered the lists if she hadn’t. Rhaella had both scorned and envied her that sort of courage.

“I’ll not lie about this,” Lord Rickard said. “I was angry with Lyanna and His Grace both when I found out about the marriage. Lyanna did not want the betrothal to Robert Baratheon. She had been so distressed when I told her I had accepted the proposal. I thought in time, she would come to care for him because that's her nature. I sent him a raven that have gone unanswered. Lyanna writes me that Jon Arryn has gone to Storm’s End to speak with him.”

That was another thing that had left Rhaella stunned. Robert Baratheon’s behavior. He had been so unlike his father, their cousin Steffon. The letters from Winterfell that had been destroyed, the battle at Gulltown, Marq Grafton’s gratuitous death . . . the apple hadn’t only fallen far from the tree, it had fallen in a different orchard altogether as far as Rhaella was concerned.

“The Baratheons have always been like this,” Rhaegar had told her with a hard voice. He had a look in his eyes that she could only have described as loathing. “Lord Steffon and his father before him were exceptions to the rule, an abnormality, really. I wouldn’t spit on Robert Baratheon if he were on fire.”

“He is the Lord Paramount of the Stormlands. You have to find a way to get along with him.”

“I don’t have to do anything,” Rhaegar had replied dryly, putting an end to the conversation abruptly.

“Did you marry for love or duty, my lord?” Rhaella asked Lord Stark. She was taken aback by her boldness at asking such a question from someone she scarce knew. “I apologize --”

He did not seem to mind, though. “Duty,” he said. “Whatever marriage my father made for me was always going to be one of duty. Those born in our position very rarely marry for love. My father wanted to bring the two Stark branches together. Lyarra was the daughter of my father’s youngest brother, the one who was restless and sought adventure where he could find it. It was the sensible thing to do. She was my family and I loved her the way someone loves his family,” he said. “But it changed. I think it dawned on me that whatever I felt went beyond familial love after Brandon was born. She was asleep from exhaustion after giving birth to him and I remember looking at her and realizing just how much more she meant to me.” His gaze had become distant and he smiled at the memory.

“That makes you luckier than most,” Rhaella said, watching one of the servants pour wine in the goblets and laying patisseries before them. Putting a child in Aerys’s arms had not made him love her. If anything, his loathing for her had only grown and festered. He blamed her for the miscarriages and stillbirths and the cradle deaths. “Rhaegar never needed Lyanna to place a child in his arms for him to know just how much he loved her,” she said. “I was upset when they told me they married, but when I looked at their faces, all I saw was how genuine what they have is. I couldn’t stay angry. Is that why you never remarried?” she asked him.

He shrugged at that. “I had no desire to remarry even though my counselors urged me to. My wife gave me three sons to rule the north and a beautiful daughter who did everything she could to turn my hair to grey. Sometimes I wish I had remarried for her sake, given her a mother. Brandon and Ned were gone from home already and my youngest latched onto his sister and our old wet nurse.”

She thought of Viserys, then, and how grief-stricken he had been over his father’s loss. But it was not her he had gone to. He still had her. It was a father her youngest was looking for. And it was Rhaegar he had found and Rhaegar he had grabbed onto.

“Ben and Lyanna were the two most affected by the loss of their mother. But she was the one who I think suffered the most from it. No one knew how to soothe her nightmares the way her mother did and no one knew how to keep her grounded in the way her mother did. My daughter was always headstrong and wild, but her mother kept her feet firmly on the ground. After she died, all that pent-up wildness was unleashed.”

“Your daughter was looking for a way to channel the pain of her loss. I think bringing a woman to take her mother’s place would have made things a lot worse. You never know how your children will be treated when you bring someone new into your household,” Rhaella said. “The mother she wanted was the one she lost. And you sent her to her aunt who was the nearest thing to that.”

The thing Rhaella had feared the most whenever she had been taken to childbed was that she would die, allowing Aerys to take another wife while Rhaegar was still a boy. Who would he have had then, she'd wondered. Would his stepmother have loved him or hated him? Would she have tried to usurp his claim to the throne with whatever sons she may have given the king?

She did not think such thoughts would have been far from Lyarra Stark’s mind either.

“How fares your son?” she asked Lord Stark. The leg had to be sawed off right below the knee, so crushed the bone had been. He had been in some pain when she had last visited with him. As much as she despised what he had said when he had rushed the Red Keep, she was tremendously grateful to him. She owed him a debt she did not believe she would ever be able to pay back.

If not for him, it might have been Rhaegar’s body she would have had to watch burn in the yard and she could not bear the thought.

“He is stronger every day that passes,” he replied. “He is taking the loss of his leg in strides and reacting a lot better to it than I had anticipated. He is talking about getting a wooden leg like the men from the stories Old Nan used to tell him when he was a boy no older than Prince Viserys. He is trying to come up with monikers similar to some his forebears had. Brandon the Pegleg is one. I’ll spare you the other ones,” he chuckled making Rhaella smile. 

“Rhaegar told me he offered him a position of envoy to Essos.”

“He did. And I think Brandon will take him up on it. A change of scenery would do him some good, I should thing. Braavos would be his destination and it’s not so far from White Harbor and the north. I have a few things to discuss with Hoster Tully.”

She nodded at that. The Red Keep had very few secrets and she heard father and son had quarreled about his upcoming marriage. Brandon Stark no longer desired it pleading that he was no longer what was promised the girl. 

Rhaella felt for Lord Rickard, a man who seemed to hold true to his word, but may have two high lords to placate. It was something of a miracle the Dornish had been more than understanding and she knew she had Elia Martell to thank for that.

“Rhaegar loved Winterfell,” she told him. She had been surprised that Lord Stark and his maester were of one mind about the Long Night, that it was the driving force behind the marriage alliances and the fostering of his middle son in the Vale. She had been so worried he would think Rhaegar mad. “He enjoyed the peace of the godswood and the hot pools. He found Winterfell and Dragonstone to be rather similar, down to the gargoyles. He called it a place out of time. I should like to see your home someday, my lord.”

“I have never seen Dragonstone, but Winterfell is a world apart. All you need do is say the word, Your Grace and Winterfell will be yours for however long you wish to remain in our company.”

“I believe I will take you up on it. A journey away from King’s Landing will do me and Viserys a world of good, I should think. I may even be able to travel to the Wall to visit my Uncle Aemon. I was a little girl when last I saw him. I could stand atop the Wall and see the rest of the world from there. Wouldn’t that be something?”

"Everyone should see the Wall once," he replied with a smile.

Just the thought of being able to travel to a place she had never seen thrilled her. For the first time in her life, she felt free, like she was mistress of her own life and she intended to make the most of it.

She sat alone for a short moment after Lord Stark had taken his leave of her before she stood and went one floor above her apartments to Rhaegar’s. There was only a man-at-arms posted there who held the door open for her.

Inside, all was quiet. The torches had been lit and the fire was crackling in the hearth. She walked beside the large desk, running her fingers along the edge.

He had not wanted to move into the king’s apartments just yet. He wanted all trace of Aerys scrubbed from it first. The only thing he’d taken were journals and letters he’d found there.

She went around the desk and sat in the chair. There was a number of quills on the desk and three inkwells, all of them filled to the brim when she pulled the lid up to see. There was parchment under a paperweight and a number of books on law and history stacked neatly. She studied the spines for a quick second before her gaze locked on a stained paper.

She pulled it from under Rhaegar’s locket, a piece of onyx with the three heads of the dragon wrought in rubies that she knew contained Lyanna’s portrait.

She unfolded the paper carefully and looked inside. She recognized Lyanna Stark’s work. And she recognized the two figures sitting together by a roaring fire, under a large moon. It was beautifully illuminated. And splattered with dried blood.

 _Rhaegar’s blood,_ she knew. He had been carrying it on him when he had gotten injured. She scratched at a large drop with her fingernail and brown blood came away in flakes, leaving a stain behind. She frowned at that.

“Mother.”

She startled and looked up. Her son never liked unannounced visitors, especially the ones who touched his things. He was dressed in a robe of roughspun and an old cloak and looking at her disapprovingly. In his hand was a plate of food. Not the right kind of food, she noticed. “Shouldn’t you be having something else to eat?”

“I have been put on a diet of stale black bread and water for seven days. My body has been craving something sweet,” he said popping a piece of cream filled tart into his mouth.

“What brings you here?” he asked.

“Can’t a mother visit her son?”

“She can,” Rhaegar said, “but not when he isn’t in his apartments as she well knew.”

“Is this Summerhall?” she deflected. She recognized the high wall and the courtyard and the elm. There used to be a swing there that Rhaella had made good use of. _Higher,_ she always asked whoever had been pushing her. She would close here eyes and pretend she was flying. Summerhall had been a beautiful place. Now it was cursed, she was convinced.

Rhaegar nodded. “It is. The first night we spent there. After we met. At times, it feels as though it has been so much longer than four years.”

“There’s dried blood on it.” It left her unsettled to see it. Like something of a bad omen staring back at her. She shivered, but her son who believed in the Long Night and ice monster and the things he saw in his dreams shrugged at that.

“Well, it has been nothing if not a bloody journey to get here,” he said putting his plate down and removing his cloak. He looked down at the drawing. “Lyanna was so young and I thought I was a worldly man. As it turns out I didn’t know much of anything. But when I looked back on those days at Summerhall after I returned here, I became aware that up until that point, I had never been truly happy in my life. But those three days I spent with Lyanna, I was. It was such a queer realization."

“You can ride to Stokeworth and bring her to King’s Landing tonight. You don't have to wait until the morrow. You could be reunited with her in a couple of hours. She could spend her night here, beside you. Don’t you want that?”

“Of course I do,” he said. “But this is the last day of peace and quiet she will have. Once she returns, she will know no real rest. There’s the coronation and I want her to look at the ledgers before I name a new master of coin. And there’s the birth --”

She could see it worried him. “Lyanna is a strong girl and she will have every care when her times comes,” she said standing from his chair and walking to where he had been standing.

He nodded and cleared his throat before he leaned back against his desk and watched her. “How did it go?” she asked him, “with the High Septon.”

“It went well enough.” He kept looking at her, chewing on his food slowly. “It’s good to see you out of your mourning clothes. I heard you spent the afternoon with Lord Stark.”

She nodded. “I did. He is a very genuine man. Lyanna is much like him.”

He said nothing to that. He took another bite from his pie and chewed carefully, his eyes traveling from her face down to the pin she wore on her dress. He tilted his head to the side and studied it for a half a heart beat before he frowned and stretched out his hand. Rhaella swallowed thickly. “I didn’t realize you still had it,” he said. “May I?”

Her first instinct had been to refuse him, but she thought better of it. She unfastened it and put it in his hand. He examined it slowly. “Is there something you wish to tell me?” he asked her, his eyes straying back to her face.

Rhaella said nothing. She could not get the words out.

“I know you are with child,” he finally said. “You reproached me for not telling you Lyanna and I are expecting a child, yet you said nothing of your own condition.”

She detected some anger in his voice. And the look in his eyes . . . “I wanted to tell you, but I could not bear the thought of you looking at me the way you are now. I knew you would be unhappy.”

“Of course I’m unhappy with this. Knowing this child was conceived in violence _does not_ make me happy. I saw the bruises on your neck and the bite marks he left behind. Who was it that he burned before he raped you?”

She shook her head at him. “You may be king, but I am still your mother and you will not speak to me like this. None of this concerns you.”

“Perhaps you’re right that this doesn’t concern me. You're right, my opinion on this matters very little. But here’s a question that does concern me. Where did you go when I left you in the secret passages? Viserys said you were gone a long time.”

“Viserys is a child who doesn't exactly have a good grasp on how much time has passed. I became ill and I did not want to frighten him.”

Rhaegar shook his head at her. The way he was looking at her made her blood run cold. “Try again. The truth will be most welcome this time.”

She swallowed thickly and watched him scrape the pad of his thumb over the pointy end of the pin. Without warning, he pressed his finger down on it. Slowly, he pulled it away and watched the blood well there before he wiped it away on his robe. He stared at the hole the pin had left and Rhaella knew her son had an inkling on what she had been up to when she left her youngest son behind with the septa.

 _“May you die painfully and may you rest in eternal torment, kinslayer,”_ were the words she had spoken while she stood facing Aerys one last time, dressed in white pristine robes.

“Sit,” he commanded her and she did as he bid her. “The Lord Hand saw the blood on your sleeve. And I saw the puncture on Aerys’s body before he was given over to the silent sisters. It was not something that came from the throne.”

Rhaella’s body was shaking as she watched her son, her firstborn child, watch her in turn, a deep frown etched upon his features. “Gods be good, Mother! What madness possessed you to do such a thing? Did you poison the pin?”

“You think I would still wear it or would have let you prick your finger with it if I had?” she asked him.

“Why, Mother? Kinslayers are accursed in the eyes of the gods.” He set the pin on the desk and got to his knees before her. “It’s the throne that killed him, not you. But what you have done worries me. It is not in you to do such a thing.”

“Isn’t it? Look at my life, Rhaegar. Look at the kind of life I have been made to live and tell me that I wasn’t already accursed. I was forced into a marriage to a man I did not desire and who became more and more abusive toward me as the years went on. Until your brother was born, I had lost every single child I bore, but you. I had to consign three sons and a daughter to the flames. I had to stand in the yard and watch their little bodies burn. I was already cursed. What other punishments were the gods going to dole out? What more pain were they going to inflict upon me that they already hadn't?" She burst in tears. "Did you never want to kill him?”

He sighed. “Of course, I did. So often, I've lost track. I wanted to kill him every time I was made aware that he was visiting your chambers. And I wanted to kill him when I found out he sent sellswords after Lyanna. And I wanted to kill him when I saw her fighting for her life. And I wanted to kill him when I found out the babe she had been pregnant with was lost. And I wanted to kill him when I thought she was going to die. The hatred and the anger . . . but she and Arthur and Oswell were right. This is not who I am. And this was no way for me to ascend the throne. I would forever have been known as Rhaegar the Kinslayer and Kingslayer, a man who killed his father to usurp his throne. It wouldn’t have mattered how much the lords hated him. This would have been my legacy and any good I would have done would never have changed that. My reign would have been forever tainted and stained with his blood.”

For weeks after she had found about Lyanna Stark’s miscarriage, all she had done was plot Aerys’s death. She had taken to reading books on anatomy, trying to understand where the more important blood vessels that were not in the neck or near the heart ran. It was the wildfire that had prompted her to act. When she’d climbed the steps to the Iron Throne, she knew where she was going to pierce him and with what.

It had seemed fitting that she would choose something Rhaegar had given her to protect him from his father. Even so, her son had come close to dying. “This is not who you are,” Rhaegar told her.

She lowered her eyes. She could have ruined everything for him. “He was going to kill you,” she finally said. “He was going to kill you to hold on to his throne. I could not allow him to harm you. I did what I had to do to not only protect you, but to protect your brother and this child. There are no lengths a mother will not go to protect her children and I had had enough of his tyranny. I could not stand the way he was corrupting Viserys and I did not want my innocent babe to be subjected to his whims. If he’d succeeded in killing you, then all would have been lost. I did what I felt needed to be done to protect all of us.” She paused. “I have not been a good mother to you. I was never strong enough.”

“You could not be further from the truth. You shielded me from him as best as you could. You raised me. You gave me the foundation upon which I built my life. You were the one who encouraged me to be better because you knew I could be better. I owe you my life and so much more that I will never be able to repay.”

Tears spilled down her cheeks. “You can repay me.”

“Name it and it's yours.”

“If I should die giving birth to this child, promise me you will look after Viserys and this babe. He or she will grow alongside you sons and daughters. I would go into the next life with a lighter heart knowing you will take care of your siblings.”

“No matter my feelings on the way this child was conceived, I hope you know I would never abandon it. But you will be with us for a long time still.”

The way he was sitting before her reminded Rhaella of days long gone, when he was a small boy still. She brushed his hair back from his face. “My mother told me I would love any children your father gave me even though I disliked him. She was wrong on a lot of things, but not in this. You have been the greatest joy of my life. You made it worth my while. You will understand when you hold your child for the first time in your arms. And you will understand the drive to want to protect them at all cost.”

“I don’t need protecting, Mama,” he said softly leaning forward and embracing her. “I have been a man grown for so long now. Lay down your burdens and let me take them up for you. It's time you allowed me to care for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It will be a year in a few days since I posted the first chapter of this story. It feels like yesterday when I was trying to decide if I should press that post button or just keep it to myself. So everyone who is still reading, still commenting, a very big thank you :)
> 
> This is just a very busy time for me. I am working on a massive project that involves a lot of research and that's pretty much taken over my life and I will be moving to another country by the end of July (if not before). So there's are just a lot of things happening right now. Generally speaking, what I really want to do is crawl under my bed and stay there because it seems like a good hiding place.
> 
> I haven't had much time to write or think about the chapters that will be coming after 41 is posted. Since this is how things stand and will stand for a while, then I do want to remind you guys that the fic will be going on hiatus following chapter 41. And I think we're looking at something that might be a little bit longer than what you have been used to with me. 
> 
> We are going into the final stretch of the story after chapter 41 and both that chapter and the one before it will end on cliffhangers.


	43. 40: Dragonspawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Robert did all he did for love."  
> "Robert did all he did for pride, a cunt, and a pretty face." _(Jaime V, ASoS 37)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW; There is violence in this chapter, so please, if you are in some way triggered by it, please skip it.

“Ned is late returning,” Ser Elbert said from where he had been sitting on the small bench in her brother’s pavilion. He stood and stretched his back before looking back at her. “Night will be falling very soon.”

They had been here for a few hours now and both were growing restless. Her brother had gone with the better part of his warriors in search of northmen who had turned outlaw and rapers she had been told when she arrived in the small camp earlier.

The war some had counted on to make their fortunes had not happened. Instead of a march further south, the large host had broken up and most people had returned home. 

“It’s a matter of honor. He will not return until he has caught up with these men,” she replied, stabbing at the old wobbly table that doubled as a desk with her dagger. She wrenched it free then laid it flat, spinning it and watching as the white and silver and blue of the hilt became a blur of color. She caught it, picked it up, studying the silver wolves and the lapis lazuli roses worked into the hilt of ivory. “If he can’t find them, he will make sure word spreads that their lives are now forfeit.”

Lyanna shifted in her seat to make herself more comfortable and looked at Elbert Arryn. “I will miss your company when you return to the Vale,” she told him. “I have gotten used to having you with me.”

“I am certain Ser Oswell will be happy taking his place by your side once more,” Elbert Arryn replied with a smile.

“Ser Oswell loves me well, but he would sooner guard the door to an empty room than hear me go on and on about something. He once complained that I made his head hurt.”

“The audacity of the man!” Ser Elbert snorted. “Should I challenge him to a duel?”

She laughed at that. Ser Oswell had been injured during the taking of the Red Keep. He and Arthur both. Just as Rhaegar and Brandon had been.

 _Brandon,_ she thought with sadness. He seemed in high spirits in the letter he had written her, but she knew him. Brandon masked his pain and frustration with jests if he didn't lash out. But better his leg than his life, she had reflected.  

In the dread hours that had followed the sound of the bells tolling and her return to the camp, all Lyanna wondered was what came next and how best to protect her babe. She had been prepared to vanish beyond the Wall or go to Asshai by the Shadow if she must.

She could go as far as the end of the world to hide from Aerys, but wherever she went, her pain would follow her as certain as day followed night. The thought of Rhaegar never seeing his child be born had twisted in her gut like some sickness.

“I will miss you as well, my lady. It has been my honor and privilege to be at your back and your side for however long it took. I believe I made a friend for life.”

She smiled softly at that. “I wouldn’t have it any other way,” she told him. Elbert would return to the Vale with his uncle soon. He wanted to marry and start a family. Things between he and Jon Arryn had gotten exponentially better and it was time for him to take his place as the rightful heir to the Vale of Arryn.

Far in the distance, thunder rumbled. Elbert moved from where he had been standing and lifted the flap of the tent to have a look and all noise of the small camp reached her ears. “Clouds are moving in,” he said, turning his head to look at her. “With your leave, I will have the horses saddled. Whatever is coming, I would sooner we are not caught in it, especially with darkness upon us. And with these outlaws . . . ” He left the rest unsaid. They were less than hour’s ride from Stokeworth and if it came to it, they could seek refuge in one of the holdfasts until the storm passed. But better the high and thick walls of a castle than the wooden palisade of some small village. “I will round up the men and we should be ready to depart in twenty minutes.”

Lyanna nodded at him. “I will find you at the horse lines.”

“As you wish.” He donned his cloak and picked up his sword belt and walked out leaving her alone. Lyanna set her dagger down on the table and poured herself water from the pitcher. After she drank, she took a piece of parchment and wrote her brother a quick note, inviting him to find her at Stokeworth and ride with them back to King’s Landing. She drew a small rose in the corner and signed her name before she folded the paper and stood from her chair.

She went to the bunk Ned slept in and slipped the note inside his pillow case where she knew he would find it.  

She straightened up and smoothed down the folds of her riding dress over the swell of her stomach. She felt a flutter against her hand, the smallest, softest of brushes against her palm and she smiled. Her new riding dress was comfortable but there was nothing to be done any longer to hide her pregnancy. Lyanna had always been a slender girl and her body had changed as quickly as the rumors had spread that she was with child. Wherever she went, she noticed people looking down at her belly more often than they looked at her face. “Are you waking, sweetling?” she whispered to her babe when she felt it move a little more sharply.

She picked up her cloak and put her arms through the slits before she adjusted it over her shoulders. After that, she tucked the loose strands of hair back into the ribbon that held her bun together.

She picked up her riding gloves and startled when she turned around. She was not alone, she saw at once and her hand closed over the hilt of her dagger. _Who is this,_ she wondered. _A sellsword? A freerider?_ She became aware of how vulnerable she was and her fingers tightened around her blade.

The man who had entered her brother’s quarters was hooded. He was tall and well built, dressed in plain black clothing. His cloak was a faded dark brown, dusty and dirty from the road. His boots were caked with mud and cracked in places. She frowned. “Who are you?” she asked.

He drew the hood of his cloak back and looked at her. His beard was black and thick and coarse and his hair was now past his broad shoulders. And Lyanna knew who those blue eyes that were looking back at her belonged to. She felt tension gather in her neck and she went cold all over. “Ned is not here,” she said after a while, breaking through the silence. 

Robert Baratheon made no replies. Instead, he kept looking at her and Lyanna nearly jumped out of her skin when she heard the thunder rumble again. The storm seemed to be closing in. Or perhaps the storm was already in the tent with her.

Had she not been pregnant, she would have welcomed the confrontation with him, but not now. She never wanted to be alone in his presence. The look in his eye, the way he was staring at her frightened her. She felt danger all around her.

Her babe kicked inside her belly and Lyanna drew a long shuddering breath that never reached her lungs. She did not dare touch where she felt her little one push against her skin. She pulled the sides of her cloak together to shield her belly from view.

“I am not here for Ned,” Robert Baratheon replied, taking a step forward. Then another. And another, his eyes not once leaving her face.

“Then you have the wrong pavilion,” Lyanna said. “This one flies the direwolf of Stark. Jon Arryn’s pavilion is at the other end.”

“Jon Arryn is not here,” he said with a shrug. "I hear he rode to Storm's End to try and reason with me." He continued to stare at her. “I have been watching you,” he told her casually. “You look even more beautiful than when I last saw you.”

Lyanna said nothing. There was nothing she could say or wanted to say to him. She wanted him gone as far away from her as possible.  

“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked when she moved from where she had been standing.

“Where I am going is no concern of yours,” she said walking with a determined step. He moved and blocked her way.

“I saw you leave Stokeworth every day and go to the holdfasts and mingle with the smallfolk. I have been waiting for the chance to find you alone.”

Lyanna had known the time would come when she would have to face him and she thought she could make him understand. The last thing she wanted was for him to become Rhaegar’s implacable enemy.  

Dread filled every part of her. Her babe seemed to feel the shift in her mood and began kicking restlessly and she had to keep herself from putting her hand to her belly as she always did whenever she felt her little one move within her.

“You could have asked for an audience instead of stalking me,” she told him with an even tone.

“You and I are supposed to marry,” he said.

“I already have a husband.”

His gaze hardened. “A forced marriage is no marriage in the eyes of the gods.”

“My marriage was not forced. Rhaegar and I married because we love each other.”

 _“Love,”_ he sneered at her. “That man is not capable of love anymore than his mad father was.”

“You had no qualm or issues with his mad father when you promised him you would take on the Knight of the Laughing Tree for him. _‘I will enter the joust and I will challenge this so-called knight of the Laughing Tree. And when I tumble him to the ground, I will rip the helm off his head and reveal his face. Then we will see who this craven is.’_ Those were the words you spoke to my husband’s mad father, my lord, were they not? Aerys was mad. Aye. He saw threats to his person everywhere he looked. What was your excuse to want to tumble the mystery knight if not to please your king? I did not see Mace Tyrell or Jon Arryn or any other lord stand to make that bold promise.”

He did not like to be reminded of that, Lyanna saw. She stepped away from him, trying to put distance between them. But he blocked her way again. “Step aside, ser, and let me pass. You and I have nothing to speak of. There is nothing I wish to tell you and I have no desire to hear anything you have to say.”

He dismissed what she said altogether. “I came here to tell you I am willing to marry you still. None of what’s happened is of your making. He forced you to marry him and forced you into his bed --”

“Rhaegar did not force me to do a single thing I did not want to do,” Lyanna interrupted him. “I married him because I love him and I share his bed because that’s what I want. You cannot nor will you rewrite what happened or paint me as some willowy girl who was coerced into her marriage. I was not and no amount of times of you saying I was kidnapped and raped will change what the truth is. Now _step aside,”_ she commanded him once more.

He would not move out of her way, though. She backed away from him. “Do I frighten you?” he asked her.

“No,” she said, taking another step back.  

“I was going to be your husband and Storm’s End was going to be your home. Ned promised me.”

It made her angry to hear him say that. “Ned doesn’t have half the wits the gods gave a goose when it comes to his love for you. Too bad he was born with the wrong body parts. You might have married him and left me out of this altogether,” she said with resentment. “I am his sister, not some mule to be disposed of any way he saw fit.”

“It was your duty to marry where your father bid you,” Robert Baratheon replied.

It troubled her that he did not care to listen to what she had to say. It troubled her how set he was marrying her.

She imagined her life with him would have been much the same. Her speaking and him giving her words no weight or consideration whatsoever.

And to think there were times when she wondered if it would not have been easier had she walked away from Rhaegar and made good on her father’s promise to Robert Baratheon. Her marriage to Rhaegar had been a secret that against all odds they had managed to keep hidden. No one ever needed to know of it.

But she did not know how to give up the very best part of her life. Selfishly, she had not wanted to.

And when she looked at this man who stood here before her and considered what her life might have been with him, she thought the time would have come when she would have either run away or killed herself.

If only they’d told the truth sooner. If only Aerys had not been hanging over their heads like a dark cloud. If only . . . if only . . . if only . . .

“Yes. I had a duty to my father and House Stark. I understand that well enough. And I understand that you were blindsided by my marriage,” her voice softened. “And I know Rhaegar and I should have been forthcoming about what we had done. Please know we never meant for you to be hurt.”

 _“Hurt?_ Do you take me for a _woman?_ Do you think I cry over you? You made me the laughing stock of the Seven Kingdoms. My smallfolk laugh behind my back and call me a cuckold. And my bannermen snigger behind my back and call me incompetent. If I could not keep my woman obedient --”

“Your _woman?”_ Lyanna nearly laughed at that. “You seem to mistake me for some mild-mannered lady,” she replied. “I am not your woman and I have never been obedient. I know I have amends to make, but I also know what _you_ have done,” she accused him. “I know about the letters my lord father sent you and my brother that said our betrothal was at an end. If you had accepted it then, your smallfolk and your bannermen would not be laughing at you. But you destroyed those letters, then you lied about kidnappings and rapes. Rhaegar and I may have a lot of blame to shoulder in the way we handled the situation, but the choices you made? Those are on you.”

He was wroth, she saw. The longer he was in her presence, the angrier he became. She wanted him to go away, but he did not look as though he was going anywhere any time soon. “Pray excuse me,” she said, trying to leave the pavilion for a third time.

Without warning, his arm shot up from his side and toward her. She jumped back, but not far enough away from him or fast enough. He grabbed at her hair yanked her head back so hard she thought it might have snapped off. “You and Rhaegar Targaryen have _ruined_ my reputation.”

When she raised the hand that she still held her dagger in, he caught her wrist and twisted it, bending it at such an awkward angle, she had no choice but to drop the blade to the ground. After that his fingers closed around her throat. She felt the cold press of her necklace against her neck and he squeezed harder and harder. She struggled to breath and her eyes watered.

Her hands beat at his furiously and her fingernails scratched at his face. She saw the bloody ribbons she was leaving behind, but he did not seem to care. “Let go of me,” she managed to choke out. Did he not realize what being married to Rhaegar made her? Didn’t he understand that his life was now forfeit because he had laid a hand on her? “Let _go.”_

He released her and shoved her hard against the table and Lyanna felt the impact on her lower back. She inhaled a lung full of air and began to cough. She had nowhere to run, she realized. He slipped one of his hands inside the folds of her cloak, sending her into panic. “It’s almost as though you are trying to hide something from me,” he whispered, his eyes flitting down from her face to her belly and when he touched her there, she felt her eyes well with tears. _“No._ Don’t touch me!” She tried to shove his hands away from her babe.

He sneered at her. “I’d heard the rumors,” he said with a broken voice, “I’d heard the rumors but I did not dare believe them.” He was looking at her with disbelief. “ _Dragonspawn,”_ he spat with vitriol. “You are nothing but a _whore.”_ She could smell the sour stench of alcohol on her breath and it made her stomach roil. The child inside her kicked hard, as though it was trying to fend for itself or escape from the unwanted touch. She thought she might faint from how painful it was.

Her body trembled and she tried to get away from him.

It had been one of those nights that was sticky from humidity and carried the smell of storm in it. And they could see it, far in the distance, the lightning over the narrow sea. Rhaegar had taken her hand into his and dragged her behind him. “We need to get a move on or we will be caught in that.”

“It’s only rain. And I’m not tired,” she’d said, slurring her words some. It was that barley ale that stunk of yeast she had at the tavern. It had been so thick she had spooned it into her mouth rather than try drinking it. Her eyes had watered and stung it had been so strong. She’d started seeing double halfway through much to her husband’s delight. He’d raised an eyebrow at her and smirked at her.

“A little rest won’t hurt you any. You do sound drunk,” he had replied.

“I am not and I can prove it. I bet I can vault over that fence and clear it without a problem.”

“You are wearing a dress, my sweet.”

“And?”

He had rolled his eyes at her before bending and lifting her up, throwing her unceremoniously over his shoulder. “You’ll thank me later.”

“This is your fault, you know.”

“And how did you come to this conclusion, pray?”

“You dared me.”

“And you could have said no,” he replied, putting her down on the bed gently once they’d reached their apartments, before he removed her slippers from her feet and set them down on the floor.

“You complain that I say no all the time. I grow confused by what you want, darling,” she’d said, turning to her side and watching him unbutton his jerkin. “I felt like a sack of turnips.” She’d begun to sober up by then and stood slowly.

“That makes you are the most beautiful, sweetest looking sack of turnips I have ever laid eyes on,” he had replied.

“You’re horrible,” she replied to that, before she’d turned her back to him. He began unlacing her slowly, the tips of his fingers brushing against her bare skin as he went. When she was down to her undersilks and turned around to face him, he gave her a loaded look, but moved on. He discarded his tunic and breeches, then poured water in his basin and looked over his shoulder. “I had fun tonight,” he’d told her as he splashed water on his face. And while she removed the ribbon that held the knot atop her head together, Lyanna watched the muscles in his back ripple as he moved about. “It was nice to be able to step out, just the two of us like this.”

They had giggled madly while they had been out. She had danced on a table with an old captain of one of Rhaegar’s trading galleys while music played loudly. Rhaegar had laughed watching her and when he had taken her by the waist to help her down, she had kissed him full on the mouth, tongue and all for everyone in the tavern to see. Her husband had tasted of ale and joy and freedom. Lyanna did not think she’d felt happier or more serene or content than she had in that moment.

She pushed the game of cyvasse aside, spilling most pieces to the ground. The noise made him turn around and he stared at her as he dried his hands. She sat gingerly on the ironwood table. “What are you doing?” he’d asked her with a small smile.

“What a ridiculous question! I am trying to seduce you of course,” she’d replied, pushing herself to the middle of the table before she stretched out. “Is it working?”

“Not really,” he said and she heard the laughter and the teasing in his voice.

“You are very insulting this evening,” she replied, lifting herself to her elbows and watching him feed more wood to the fire before he turned and looked at her.

“I’m sure you’ll survive.” He made his way slowly to her and Lyanna closed her eyes and sighed.

He ran a slow finger under her foot where he knew she was the most ticklish and it took everything in her not to jerk away from him or make a sudden movement that would send her tumbling down to the ground.

He slowly moved on to her knee and thigh, between her legs where he applied just enough pressure to make her breath hitch, then to her midriff, the cleft between her breasts, the column of her throat, her chin. He traced her lips lightly before he bent and kissed them just as it started to rain. 

He pulled a chair after he’d broken away from her and sat behind her. Lyanna moved up and placed her head on his shoulder, sighing contentedly when his arms circled her tightly right below her breast.

She turned her head and bit gently at his earlobe and heard a low moan rumble in his throat. “You’re being mischievous.”

“You never complained before.”

“I don’t know what gave you the idea that I was complaining.” He’d lowered his head and kissed her and his arms tightened even more around her. 

She pulled away from him and pushed his arms down from her. “If we keep kissing like this, neither one of us will be able to move our necks on the morrow,” she told him. “Besides something unseemly might happen on the table.”

“We both know you want something unseemly to happen on the table.”

“Maybe I do. We both know your wife is no true lady.” She’d flipped onto her stomach. “Ow!” She reached a hand under her and pulled one of the pieces cyvasse that had not hit the ground along with the others. “A dragon was poking me.”

“A _dragon_ was poking you,” he’d said with a snort. “You have such a way with words!” He took the piece from her hand and tossed it over his shoulder. “There’s room for just the one,” he teased her. He became serious then. “Lya,” he whispered with a voice thick with longing. “Don’t ever change.”

“I love you,” she’d mouthed the words to him. “I would have waited forever for you if I had to.”

“Forever is an awfully long time,” he’d said softly, taking her hand and kissing her fingers one by one.

“Not when it’s something that’s worthwhile.” 

“Flatterer!” He put both his hands on her lower back, sliding them to her cheeks and squeezing lightly. She moaned. “Come here.”

She pulled herself up to her knees and watched him for a beat. “And here I thought my seduction methods were lost on you.”

“Never.” 

She slipped down from the table to the chair where he was comfortably seated and straddled him. “You know, darling, something unseemly might happen on the chair,” she’s whispered near his ear.

He shrugged at that, pulling down the straps of her undersilks. “I don’t care, so long as you remember this is a chair,” he’d whispered back to her before lowering his mouth to her exposed breasts and when she’d slipped her hand between and reached for his cock, he sighed long and heavy. “My blood is on fire.”

“You’re a dragon. I wouldn’t expect anything less than that.”

“It is as you suspected, my lady,” the healer Rhaegar had summoned to the manse when she had become ill some five weeks later had said to her. “You are with child.”

They had been elated by the news. And she had finally been able to let go of some of the guilt she’d felt and the fear that her miscarriage had somehow damaged her.

That thrill of finding out she was pregnant had been so far removed from the day they’d sailed away from Dragonstone when she had been so despondent, so confused and heartbroken. 

For a while it was as though she had not really understood she had been pregnant or that she had bled out the child. The maester at Harrenhal had reminded her of it once, when he had examined her before they had taken their leave from the castle, but she had promptly put it out from her mind and for a while she felt as though the miscarriage had happened to another.

When she was growing up, Lyanna had not wanted a husband and she had not wanted children. Talk of it drove her mad. She knew it was what duty dictated. It did not mean she had to like it.

But she _loved_ her husband beyond measure and she had _wanted_ their child more than anything. She’d told Rhaegar as much when they had been together at the Smoking Log, below the walls of Winterfell.

She’d decided that if she did not speak of the miscarriage, then it would be like it had never happened, but it had been difficult to ignore it when Rhaegar had told her they were headed to Dragonstone to lay the child to rest there. 

It had been in the crypts of the ancient fortress, walking past the urns that contained the ashes of so many Targaryens that reality had finally caught up with her. 

She had been shocked out from whatever state of denial she had been in and sent straight into this feeling of unworthiness. She felt inadequate and like the worst person who’d ever lived and the worst kind of mother who ever was. 

She thought that perhaps the gods were punishing her for being the way she was, stubborn and willful. The price they had demanded of her had been far too great, though.

The pain she felt was like a crushing weight on her heart. This was the one thing she had been put in the world to do. She was supposed to bear a children and she had failed at it. She’d failed her child and she’d failed her husband who’d looked broken up. Lyanna had no idea how she could make this up to him or if she would ever be able to.

“You did not fail me or our child. I should have spoken the truth sooner but I buried my head in the sand instead. I left you to fend for yourself. I was not there when you needed me most,” he’d said to her while they stood in the crypts. “The failure is mine, not yours.”

For a while after that, he had joined her in her silence, but he had grown tired of the way she had closed herself off to him and after a few days, he’d wanted none of it, not when he saw how much she struggled.

“If you want to scream, then scream,” he had told her while they sailed toward Pentos. He’d sat across from her on the bunk they shared while the winds howled above them and the ship was tossed by the waves as though it had been some child's toy. He had tucked a long strand of hair behind her ear with affection she did not think she deserved. “And if you want to cry, then cry. And if you want to do both, then do both. I will never judge you nor will I ever think less of you or think you weak for it. But you cannot carry on like this. I don’t need you to be brave for my sake if that’s what you’re trying to do and I don’t want you to carry your grief on your own. Cry it and scream it, Lya. You cannot keep it bottled up like this.”

“You were right,” she’d replied, “I should have come to you and told you what had happened with those squires. I should have let you handle it. I am so sorry for what I’ve done and I am so sorry that we will never get to hold her or know her.”

“You have no apologies to make. I want you to understand that I blame you for none of it. You have to find a way to forgive yourself.”

Tears had sprung to her eyes and he had gathered her in his arms and held her there and she’d somehow fallen asleep.

He had been sitting on the cold planks of their cabin floor, when she had woken up, his chin resting on his drawn up leg. The fingers of his right hand had been dancing in the flame of one of the candles. Quick they had been moving, then slow, very slow before they stopped and stayed there in the flame. 

And when she looked at the side of his face that was not hidden by the shadows, she saw the sadness there, etched in his features. She had moved down from the bunk and sat down beside him. “And you?” she’d asked him. “Have you forgiven yourself?”

He’d removed his fingers away from the heat and looked at her. “No.”

“And when you will you forgive yourself?”

“I -- I don’t know. Maybe I’ll wake up one morning and the guilt will be gone. Maybe time will do for me what I cannot do for myself right now.”

She nodded at that. “I don’t need you to be strong for my sake, Rhaegar. You lost her too.”

“I did,” he’d replied. “But she was not part of me in the way she was part of you. She was growing inside you and you bled her out. You need me to see you through this more than I need you to see me through it.”

“I promise you that knowing you are here for me to lean on is enough for me, Rhaegar.” She’d taken hold of his hand and laid her head on his shoulder. He had pressed a lingering kiss to the top her head then and let out a long heartrending sigh.

“In all the years since my mother died, I never needed her more than when the maester told me I had lost our babe. There was this _longing_ and this _ache_ for her deep in my heart. I wanted to see her face and I wanted her to hold me and soothe my pain away like she did with my nightmares when I was a little girl. But then, I remembered that the other person who does this for me is you. You are my greatest comfort. I hope you know that.”

“Just as you are, my darling. The gods gave me you and I will always be grateful to them for that.”

“The septa at Amberly told my cousin and I that a woman’s war was in the birthing bed, but she never said how devastating a miscarriage could be. Septas should not be allowed to educate girls on these matters. She made sex sound like it was the worst thing and something a woman could not take pleasure in. I never wanted my husband to come anywhere near me while naked after that. For a while, when Ned told me Robert Baratheon was inquiring after me and after all the tales I’d heard, I was terrified that I would become his wife and have to share his bed.” She shuddered at the thought and Rhaegar made a face. “I can’t even imagine,” she said.

“Aye, let’s not.” He had run the back of his finger along her cheek. “It will get easier. Some things take time, Lyanna.”

“And some things just stay broken.”

“It may feel like it is broken now, but I promise you, it is not. There will be other children. And we will love them.”

“Is it queer that I already do even though they don’t yet exist?”

“No, my heart,” he’d shaken his head drawing her to him and holding her tightly. “Not at all.” 

Lyanna slapped Robert Baratheon’s across the face as hard as she could and felt the sting of it. “ _Do not touch_ my child.” 

She had to get away from him and here. She would be safe once she was outside the pavilion. 

Robert Baratheon stared down at her. “This should have been _my son,”_ he screamed at her, his face so close to hers, she could feel the dampness of his breath upon her skin and smell his breath with every word he spoke. _“Mine._ Not his.”

His fingers dug into her arm painfully and Lyanna felt as though she was back in the riverlands, on the night she was trying to flee from Aerys’s sellswords. She’d never been so frightened, but the way she felt now did not even begin to compare. She reached out with her other hand and grabbed the pitcher of water and swung it at his head with all of her strength.

It caught him full in the face. Stunned, Robert Baratheon let go of her. Blood and water mingled together and ran down the side of his face where the glass had shattered and sliced him open every which way. 

She shoved past him, but she did not go very far. He grabbed the hood of her cloak and when he pulled her back to him her back slammed against his hard chest. She squirmed and beat at the arms that held her in a grip so tight, her breathing became labored. _“Help!”_ she tried to scream, but her words were cut short when he clasped a clammy hand over her mouth. When she kept trying to get away from him, he put a dagger to her belly and she felt its cold tip pressing against her skin, pricking it.

She trembled and stopped moving. 

When she had been a girl, the septa at Amberly had told her and her cousin that a woman’s armor was her courtesy, while the cook told them that a woman’s weapon was her tears and what she had between her legs. 

Courtesy was lost a on man such as Robert Baratheon and the only way he would ever get between her legs was if he raped her. All she had were tears, though she was certain those would not work either. But she was so stressed and so scared, she let them fall anyway. 

“I will remove my hand and you will not scream,” he said, “or I will rid you of the dragonspawn.”

Lyanna remembered the boy from her fever dream who had to be hidden away so that he may live. It made her shudder to think what Robert Baratheon would have done had he found her with her babe in her arms. Would he have torn it away from her and murdered it?

She nodded her head to let him know she understood. He dropped his hand from her mouth and jerked her around violently. “I never knew you to be so cruel as to threaten an unborn child’s life. My babe has done you no wrong,” she said tearfully.

“Your dragonspawn _exists,”_ he replied scornfully. “That is plenty wrong and enough for the realm to laugh at me. Take your dress off,” he said.

“Are you going to rape me?”

That seemed to anger him and he shoved her so hard, she nearly lost her balance. “I am no raper,” he said. “I am not Rhaegar Targaryen.”

“We agree on that much,” she muttered under her breath.

“Your brother’s trunk. Find something to change into. Nothing that has the direwolf on it,” he said. _“Now!”_ he whispered dangerously when he saw she was not moving. She got down to her knees and when her babe kicked, she touched her hand to the swell of her stomach and tried to soothe it. She found a tunic, a pair of breeches far too big for her and an old grey cloak. She wiped her tears away with the back of her hand and got back to her feet, slowly. 

“You are not going to rape me, but you are going to kidnap me,” she stated with a shaking voice. If he managed to take her from here, she did not know that anyone would ever find her. Fresh tears spilled down her cheek

“You should smile,” he said, “I am taking you to Rhaegar.”

His answer made her feel light-headed. _“If Robert Baratheon gets his hands on you, he will take you against your will. And when he finds out you are with child, he will have no use for you. And then he will kill you. But not before he cuts our child out from your belly, I’d wager.”_

It seemed Rhaegar had had a better read on the situation and Robert Baratheon than any of them did. 

And if Robert was going to cut her babe out from her belly and kill her, then she would rather he did it here, far away from the eyes of the man she loved and who loved her. She could not bear the thought of him having to watch her and their child die.

“I am not going anywhere with you,” she told him. “You will have to drag me from here kicking and screaming. I will not go quietly.  If you’re going to kill me, then get on with it.”

_ “Get changed.” _

“No. I’ll not get changed.”

“You really want me to rid you of your spawn, is that it?” he asked her, pointing the dagger right below her breasts. 

She complied. She removed her cloak and unbuttoned the top of her dress and when she chanced a quick look at him, she saw his arousal and felt sick to her stomach. She turned away from him, shaking and slipped the too large tunic on, then pulled the breeches up before she finished removing her dress. Even pregnant, everything was far too big for her. She laced the breeches right over the swell of her belly and as tightly as she could, but she felt them slipping down anyway. Lastly, she threw the grey cloak over her shoulder and tied the strings around her neck.

Robert Baratheon’s fingers went there, to the hollow of her throat and they brushed against her flesh making her recoil with disgust. “The dragon and the wolf,” he said taking hold of the pendent she wore about her neck. “It should have been the stag and the wolf.”

“Wolves eat stags for breakfast,” she said defiantly.

She wondered how long had passed since Elbert Arryn had left her. He would come for her when he saw she was late arriving. All she had to do was stall.

Thunder rumbled right above them now and rain began to lash at the canvas of the pavilion. Would that it collapsed on top of them from the wind.

“You can leave here,” Lyanna told him. “You can leave and I will never breathe a word of what you have done. You can return to Storm’s End. What you have done here, raising your hand to me is treason and your head will be measured for a spike. Is that what you want?”

When he said nothing, she continued. “No one need know that any of this has happened,” she reaffirmed. “If you value the people in your life, you will walk away now,” she said. “Jon Arryn raised you since you were a boy and Ned loves you as though you were his own blood. This child is as much Rhaegar's as it is mine. It has Stark blood. It is Ned’s own nephew or niece. If you harm it whatever love he bears you will be gone. He will hate you for it. You have two brothers. Think of them and what will happen to them if you carry on with this madness.”

“No one will know it was me.” There was hatred in his eyes. There was no mercy there. Only anger and loathing. He looked at her for half a heartbeat. “Tuck your hair back into your ribbon and pull the hood of the cloak over your head.”

“After the letter you burned and the lies you have tried to spread about kidnapping and rape, you will be the first person suspected and when you return home with your face injured as it is, they will know for a certainty that it was you.” 

“Keep your mouth shut or I’ll shut it for you,” he warned her. 

“This is how you like your women, isn't it,” she whispered thoughtfully. “You like them praising you and spreading their legs on your saying so. You want them smiling at you. You want them obedient and submissive or cowering in fear of you.”

“I am warning you . . .”

“Warning me?” she asked. “What? You will beat a pregnant woman bloody, is that it? Will you cut my throat and watch me bleed to death?”

_“Quiet!”_

“You do not command me. By the grace of the gods I am not yours. I never was yours. You stand here disparaging Rhaegar, comparing him to Aerys, when you are the one who is like him. You are gutless, my lord. A coward if I’ve ever seen one.” She spat in his face. “This is what I think of you. What a jape of a man you are.”

Purple with rage, he lashed out, a vicious backhand blow to the side of her head. Lyanna stumbled and her feet became tangled in the too long leg of the breeches she had been forced to wear. When she felt herself falling, she crossed her arms over her belly to protect the child within as best she could, and hit her head on the bench Elbert Arryn had been sitting on earlier. 

She did not know where she was any longer or what was happening. She turned to her side and made to stand, but there was too much pain and her legs had turned to jelly

She felt him grab her arm and jerk her up from the ground. She felt boneless and something warm and sticky was trickling slowly down her face. “You and your dragonspawn and the abomination. There will be no happy ending for you.”

“My lady, we must make haste . . .” she heard a voice trail off. “What are you doing? _Let go of her!”_

She felt herself float in the air before her body hit the ground. When she opened her eyes, she saw two dark shapes shoving at each other and heard some terrible curses. Then one of the shapes fell beside her and she saw . . .

Her mind was a dense fog and she had to blink her eyes several times. Robert Baratheon hovered above her and his fingers tugged at the chain about her neck and she heard it snap and break, then he was mercifully gone.

Several heart beats later, Lyanna pushed herself up with whatever strength she had left in her. Her head and neck hurt and nausea filled her mouth. And when her vision adjusted some, she saw Elbert Arryn looking back at her.

There was blood trickling out of her mouth and her own dagger had been shoved into his chest so hard and so deep, she saw only the hilt. Wolves wrought in silver and roses of lapis lazuli worked into ivory. She had been so happy the day Rhaegar had given it to her. She’d never had a dagger before. Her father had not allowed her.

Would that she had planted it in Robert Baratheon’s black heart the moment he had shown his face inside this pavilion. 

She could not stand, the pain she was in was too intense. She screamed for help over and over, her voice becoming hoarse and dragged herself over to her friend. “I’m so --” he said with a faint voice and Lyanna knew he was going to die. She screamed for help again. 

She pulled Elbert Arryn’s head onto her lap and held his hand in hers. She did not want him to die alone. And when the labored breathing stopped and eyes that had been as blue and clear as a summer sky stared sightless, she knew it was done.

Even her babe who had been moving and kicking inside her had quieted and she did not know if its little heart was still beating.

Lyanna laid her head against her brother’s bunk and closed her eyes. She was exhausted and hurting and she did not know that she could survive the heartbreak of losing her child. Not after the all consuming love she felt for it. 

She thought she heard the flap of the pavilion being lifted and a woman scream over and over and her name being called by a voice she had known all her life.

She let darkness pull her under. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is one more chapter left before hiatus.


End file.
